


a wicked thing, a wicked game

by evawrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Political Campaigns, Politics, Sloths Have Nothing On This Slow Burn, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evawrites/pseuds/evawrites
Summary: Two sisters, Bellatrix Black and Andromeda Tonks, face off in a fight for the White House during the US Presidential Election of 2020. Their policies clash, and their worlds collide.Meet Hermione Granger, a new communications director for the Tonks campaign, and Narcissa Black, Bellatrix’s campaign manager. People from the opposite sides, especially as strong-willed as they are, are bound to hate each other.They certainly do, until one day, differences turn into similarities, and two sides blend into one.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 156
Kudos: 258





	1. lost and found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellatrxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatrxx/gifts).



> 1\. So, it’s going to be the slowest of slow burns. No sudden jumps from “I hate you” to “I love you”. Pinky promise. 
> 
> 2\. I don’t have any special knowledge in politics and the US presidential election. Everything I know is something I gathered from Wikipedia articles, Google and watching _Scandal_ too many times. So, if someone is willing to help me out with the politics part of this fic? You can text me on my tumblr acc, [evadwrites](https://evadwrites.tumblr.com). I would be forever grateful.

**MARCH 1**

_3 Days Until Super Tuesday_

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Nymphadora muttered under her breath, rushing past a couple of volunteers. They ducked out of her way as soon as a perky blonde girl spotted the latest issue of _The Washington Prophet_ in her hands, half-crumpled. Despite the paper’s state, Nymphadora could see a headline that made her heart stop as soon as she checked her mail. 

**REMUS LUPIN: GUNS ALL THE WAY AND NO CONTROL WHATSOEVER**

**by Rita Skeeter**

_Remus John Lupin runs a presidential campaign of senior US Senator from Washington, Andromeda Tonks née Black. One of the main political standpoints of the Tonks campaign is their support of the gun control movement. But what would your reaction be if you found out that Remus Lupin almost shot a man with a gun bought in a simple supermarket?_

_Rita Skeeter investigates the hypocrisy of the Tonks campaign manager, or how people support the distribution of guns by voting for Senator Tonks._

She was sure she almost took the door off the hinges as she entered her mother’s office. Everyone was already there, and Nymphadora cursed herself once again. She chose the _worst_ day to oversleep _._

She looked around the room until her eyes landed on her mother. Andromeda was standing in the furthest corner of the room, leaning onto the bookcase and gazing out of the window. Nymphadora didn’t like the look on her face at all— as if she had already made a decision and wasn’t happy with it.

She pulled her pinkish hair—the color was already wearing off—into a high ponytail and headed to the leather couch. There was Remus, head down in shame. Lily sat next to him, stroking her friend’s back in gentle circles while James stood nearby, watching them with a clenched jaw and unreadable expression. 

“Remus,” Nymphadora called out. He looked up, and she couldn’t hold back a gasp. His eyes were red-rimmed, downcast, a shadow looming behind them she hadn’t seen in so long. “No. No, no, _no_. Don’t tell me it’s _that_ bad. It can’t be.” She shook her head, refusing to believe it. They would get over it, the way they had always done.

“There’s no getting over this, Dora. Not this time,” he assured her, a small, defeated smile tugging his lips. And God, it hurt so much that out of all people, _he_ was smiling right now. 

Nymphadora’s gaze snapped to Lily, a chaotic mess she had never seen a woman before. Her red hair was rumpled after running through them probably a hundred times, and her clothes were mismatched in the worst way possible. 

Nymphadora let out a shuddered breath, clenching and unclenching her fists in a weak attempt to steady herself. Breathe in, one-two. Breathe out, one-two-three-four. “Who was the rat?”

James took a few steps towards and spat out, “Peter. He betrayed us.”

And it all clicked. Lily and James and oh God, _Remus_ —they weren’t just so shattered because of the fall-out that was to come. They were stabbed in the back by someone they had known for more than thirty years, someone who was their best friend, someone who they thought they could trust. 

And suddenly, all she was seeing was red, white-hot rage filling every cell in her body. “That goddamn Republican _bitch_!” Before anyone knew it, an empty glass that stood on the coffee table was hurling towards the wall, shattering into hundreds of pieces. She couldn’t believe that one of her aunts—or, better to say, _both_ of them—actually had a damn audacity to pull off something so utterly, devastatingly low. 

“ _Nymphadora_.” Andromeda’s voice was cold, but to everyone who knew her well enough, there was a barely concealed rage hidden behind every letter. “Don’t talk about your aunt that way.” She looked at Nymphadora, folding her hands as if in self-defense.

Nymph’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Are you fucking kidding me, mom?” She remembered to whisper, not willing to be overheard by the rest of the campaign staff. “My _dear_ aunt not only poached our communications director, who was privy to all of our strategies. No, as if this wasn’t enough, she used a piece of private information he was trusted with for—for what exactly?” 

When her mother stayed silent, Nymphadora turned to Lily, and then to James. It was another two minutes before her eyes landed on Remus, and there was something in his eyes, in the quirked corners of his lips, that told her everything the words never could. 

“No. It’s not happening. _No_.”

“Dora,” Remus breathed out, shaking his head and chuckling as if she still was a child. “I handed in my resignation letter twenty minutes ago. It’s already done. I’m sorry.”

She felt tears burning in the corners of her eyes and turned to her mother once again, croaking out a barely audible, “Mom?” 

Andromeda’s eyes were shining with unshed tears of her own, a quiet acceptance of what had happened written on her face. “There’s nothing we can do about it. It’s the best course of action.”

“Like hell it is!” Nymphadora spat out. “How can it be the best? What, isn’t anyone going to talk her out of this stupidity?” She looked at James, and at Lily, and then at Remus, waiting for a back-up that never came. Her gaze snapped to her mother. “C’mon, mom, there’s got to be something! You’re not really letting your campaign manager go _three days_ before Super Tuesday, are you?”

When there was no reply after what felt like an eternity but couldn’t be more than five minutes, Nymphadora glared at her mother until Andromeda spoke up, sounding more exhausted and defeated than she had beein in a long time. “What do you want me to say, Nymphadora? Why do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” she shouted, not even caring anymore, throwing her hands in the air for the briefest of seconds. “Don’t let him go! Remus is one of the best campaign managers on the East coast! You work so well together, and for fuck’s sake, you have been best friends since _forever_ , and he—he—”Her rant was interrupted by a feather-light touch to her shoulder, and Nymphadora turned around, crashing into Remus’s embrace. She buried her head in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. “There’s got to be _something_ ,” she whispered, barely holding back the tears. 

“Andy is advocating for gun control, and her campaign manager is caught up in the scandal involving his usage of a gun he bought freely,” he said calmly, and God, she wanted to hit him for this stupid soothing voice so much. 

“You were seventeen, for fuck’s sake! Greyback assaulted you, he almost fucking beat you to death!” Nymphadora hissed, reminding him. As if Remus wasn’t the one who survived this, as if he somehow forgot. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that I bought a gun, and the next time he came onto me, I pointed it at him.”

“There’s got to be something,” she repeated stubbornly, pulling back to meet his eyes. 

He smiled at her, and Nymphadora felt her heart breaking at what was sure to come. “There’s nothing, Dora. I can’t be there for your mom anymore as her campaign manager.”

“Well, then I’m leaving, too,” she said. 

Remus shook his head, his eyes shining with something that wasn’t quite tears. “We both know you can’t. You won’t leave Andy, and you staying there, helping her manage the fall-out from this scandal is the right, the best thing to do.” 

“How fighting for you isn’t the right thing?” she snapped. “Why the fuck _no_ _one_ is fighting? _”_

Remus sighed. “Because all of us here know that me leaving this campaign right now is what your mother needs to make it to the Oval. And you understand that, too.”

“I don’t _want_ to.” 

Remus chuckled sadly, pulling away entirely as Nymphadora’s hands fell to her sides. “It’s time for me to go. You all have a lot of work to do.”

“Remus—” she tried again. 

He just shook his head like the last time, silencing her. “I’ll be in touch. I’m just a phone call away. Everything’s going to be fine.” 

Remus headed towards the door, reached for the doorknob, and then looked over his shoulder at all of them. Andromeda was still standing by the window, hugging herself now, guilt-stricken at what she believed was entirely her fault—even though everyone here knew it wasn’t. Lily was sitting on the couch, face buried in her hands to hide the tears undoubtedly streaming down her cheeks. James was watching him solemnly, angry at the world, at Peter and at himself for not predicting his betrayal somehow.

And then, there was Nymphadora. Too strong and stubborn to let herself cry, too strong and too stubborn to let him go. Remus smiled at her, at all of them, and said, “You just... do what we all came here for. Andy can change the world when she gets to the Oval. It’s your job to make it happen. And I believe in each and every last one of people on this campaign.” And with that, he left. 

* * *

Andromeda was the first who spoke up, about ten minutes after Remus’s exit. She dropped her arms to her sides and headed towards the table, reaching for her black leather notebook and a fountain pen. “Let’s talk strategy and staff,” she said. 

With her words, everyone snapped into action. James nodded and left the room to make a few calls to reporters closest to them, while Lily ran her hand through her hair one more time. She took in a deep breath, opened her eyes and said, “Well, for starters, we need to decide if we distance our campaign from Remus as much as possible, or—”

Nymphadora scrambled for the words that weren’t too insulting, but it was her mother who interrupted the redhead. “It’s off the table, Lil. We won’t be putting everything on Remus. I won’t allow it.”

Lily let out a shuddering breath, swallowed hard, and nodded. Nymphadora could picture what was running through her head at that moment; she was extremely grateful that Andromeda didn’t choose the easiest way out. 

“Okay. So, I suggest we play a pity-card with the press first,” Lily began, switching to her press-secretary mode. “There are hospital records that will prove Remus was beaten up, badly, and I think we can even spin it in his favor. I say we still strongly support gun control, obviously, but we also state that we _are_ against situations when minors are left without protection from adults.” 

“We charge into foster care with double effort.” Andromeda nodded, catching up. “Offer people more changes in the current system.”

Lily hummed, tapping on the coffee table with her fingertips. “Self-defense training, maybe? Nothing too excessive, but if a person can defend themselves without a gun—” 

“No, we can’t do that,” Nymphadora interjected. “If we offer this, then we just dwell on the violence. It can make matters even worse.”

Lily cursed under her breath. “So what if—”

“Violence isn’t the main problem. It’s a symptom of the disease which is a foster care system the way it is now,” Andromeda suggested, writing it down at Lily’s eager nod. 

“Remus was thrown from one foster home to another since he was twelve,” Nymphadora mused. “And Greyback and his gang—”

“—had been in the system even longer,” Lily finished for her. “A common dominator. Brilliant, you two.”

“It makes sense. Like, truly does.” Nymphadora even managed to crack a small smile. “Foster care is one of the topics we’re already passionate about. Yes, there will be a hit concerning our gun control movements, but—”

“What we lose from these supporters, we can gain from the ones who see all the cracks in the system.” Andromeda smiled, actually _smiled_ , and Nymphadora let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. They were going to make this right. “James!” she called out, craning her neck to look past Nymphadora at the still-closed door. About five seconds later, he hurried to the room, papers in one hand and a phone pressed to his ear in another. “What do we have?”

“On hold with _The Washington Prophet._ Debating options. They’re offering us Skeeter,” James sighed. 

“Absolutely not—”

“Over my dead body—”

“No _fucking_ way—”

Andromeda, Lily, and Nymphadora glanced at each other after they realized they spoke up simultaneously. James rolled his eyes at them and murmured, “Yes, I figured you’d be... opposed, to say the least. I’ll keep trying.” He ducked out of the office, leaving the door open. There was quite a commotion in the bullpen, mostly interns and volunteers, wide-eyed and awaiting instructions. 

Andromeda headed outside, stopping a few feet away from the mass, and started rattling off orders before anyone could even do as much as blink. “Lavender, I want new polling numbers in fifteen. Parvati, you and Padma are on research. I want to know everything literally _anyone_ says about this situation, including gossip blogs. Dean, get me Congresswoman McGonagall on the phone in twenty. If she calls earlier, put her trough immediately. Oh, and we need to interview someone on the current state of the foster care system. Someone new, someone we couldn’t get our hands on before.”

Everyone who got their tasks scurried away, mostly in silence, except Padma’s grumbling of, “I _hate_ gossip blogs.” 

Andromeda chuckled half-heartedly and that, and then focused back on a few people still standing in the bullpen. “Everyone else, get to work. I will be talking strategy with Lily and Nymphadora. Disturbance only on top-level emergencies.” With that, she turned on her heels and stormed into her office, shutting the door behind her and leaning onto it. She closed her eyes and tried to even out her breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. _It won’t do you any good to kill two of your sisters,_ she tried to remind herself. _Convicted murderers can’t be Presidents._

“Mom?” she heard Nymphadora’s concerned voice, and her eyes fluttered open. 

“I’m fine,” she assured her, pushing off the door and passing her daughter to get to her table. As soon as she was seated, notebook right in front of her, she looked at her press-secretary. “Lil?”

“So, there’s a matter of your campaign manager—”

“No,” Andromeda cut her off. “Not yet. I don’t—” She bit her lower lip, a clear _I don’t trust anyone the way I trusted him_ sitting on the tip of her tongue. She chose to swallow it. “Can we do without a campaign manager for a time, until I find someone suitable?” 

_No,_ she told herself. _Super Tuesday is in three days. How can a candidate run without their campaign manager?_ It was a mind-shattering experience even with the best of the best, and Andromeda not only didn’t have _that_ anymore—she didn’t have a campaign manager altogether. Still, it felt pointless to search for someone completely unknown and unreliable now. Andromeda supposed Minerva might have had some people on standby if anything ever went sideways with Remus, but she wasn’t that desperate for these options, not yet. She wanted a person to run her campaign for the next nine months to be someone she actually _wanted_.

“Well, it’s possible,” Lily agreed, albeit hesitantly as if she had seen every one of Andromeda’s thoughts—which she probably had. It was one of the things she liked most about working with her friend, they always seemed to read one another without much effort. “It will be hard and time-consuming, but we can do a month or two, maybe even three. The campaign manager is high-importance. It’s literally your future Chief of Staff. So, take your time. We’ll hold the fort.” Lily smiled at her. 

Andromeda nodded and mouthed a quick, “Thank you.”

“ _But…_ ” Lily drawled, and Andromeda couldn’t help but roll her eyes. _Of_ _course_ , Lily had to mention the fact Andromeda knew all too well. “It will be absolute hell, Andy. You will probably get four hours of sleep a night, max. That is if we find a new communications director. And we need one. Not today, not tomorrow. _Yesterday_.” 

Nymphadora nodded once, a strand of her pinkish hair falling out of her ponytail. “We certainly can’t run this thing without one, especially with the Super Tuesday looming around. We need to start searching.” She paused, as if not wanting to continue, but ended up throwing a pretty eloquent, “Unless...” at Lily. 

“Uh-huh,” the redhead mumbled. “Peter may be a treacherous bastard, but he still had much more knowledge in politics than I do.” 

“So, what do you suggest then? _Who_ , that is?” Nymphadora asked, folding her hands. Lily was a pretty fucking good press-secretary, managing daily press, but, for starters, she was absolutely _awful_ at social media. She didn’t even have an Instagram account, and pretty much everything and everyone was on Insta these days. 

“Let’s draw a portrait,” Andromeda offered. 

The corners of Lily’s lips twitched as she reached for the clipboard and a pen. It was one of their favorite tactics when they were searching for a new member of the staff. It was like doing a puzzle. There were little pieces and qualities which absolutely had to be there, and put together, they created an image of the person they needed. 

“So, a political science degree. And communications, obviously. Or PR,” Nymphadora started.

“Easily approachable. Likable,” Andromeda added as Lily scribbled down everything they were saying. 

“Yes, I think that’s an important one,” Nymphadora said, turning to look at her mother. Her light-brown curls were a bit more chaotic today due to a rushed morning. She was distinctly looking like Nymphadora’s aunt and current nemesis number one, Bellatrix Black. She shuddered at the comparison. Maybe their appearance was quite similar, but her mother was _nothing_ like Bellatrix.

Nymphadora shook her head, pulling herself out of her thoughts, and kept on. “Pettigrew was smart, yes, but he wasn’t really likable. I think a lot of people refused communications just because he was a bit... rat-like, or something.”

“How accurate,” Andromeda muttered, and both Lily and Nymph actually snorted at that. “What else?”

“I want at least two languages,” Lily added because for _fuck’s_ sake, she couldn’t speak French, despite what other people thought. “And ambition, a lot of it. Loyalty, obviously. It has to be someone we know. She has to be—”

“Oh, so that will be a she,” Nymphadora chuckled. “I’m certainly on board.”

“That’s an obvious advantage.” Lily wrote down her own words. “More women on the campaign means—”

“—more votes from feminists,” Nymphadora finished for her. “Yeah, I know the drill, Red.”

Lily threw her hands in the air and groaned. “For God’s sake, how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me _that_?”

“Probably until the day one of us dies of exhaustion and too much caffeine in our blood system,” Nymphadora deadpanned, straight-faced, hands in the back pockets of her jeans. 

Lily rolled her eyes, looking as if she was seconds away from strangling her. “Oh, for the love of—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Andromeda cut in with enough firmness in her voice to get them to stop. “You both have to get back on track. A woman, two or more degrees _and_ languages, is approachable, likable, ambitious, loyal, and familiar. What else? It’s still too… abstract.” She wrinkled her nose at the word.

Andromeda took in a deep breath and tried to browse through all the important names in her mind that would fit the needed description. There was Marlene, whom she hadn’t spoken in the last six or seven years. The other woman was a mean political fixer, a great advisor, for sure. She made a name for herself in that field, but by all means, Marlene was no communications director. Besides, there was her previous affiliation with Narcissa—it had been _decades_ ago, but Andromeda wasn’t sure she was ready to take a risk like that. Not after the stunt the Black campaign had just pulled on hers. 

It was _more_ than a political campaign, though—it had become something personal the moment they attacked Remus. Sure, when Andromeda decided to run, knowing all too well that Bellatrix will be absolutely furious with her decision, she understood what complications it might bring her. But _her_ , not Remus, not James and Lily, who had lost their colleague and their friend. 

Everything was too good to be true, she supposed. February was _their_ month. The Tonks campaign hit it off at the beginning of the month in Iowa, with 69% of the votes. New Hampshire Democratic primary was another win, and Andromeda had been polling so great compared to her results in the first caucus of this election. Even three days after the results were announced, all she could see in front of her eyes was 75%, just three points lower than Bellatrix’s numbers in the Republican primary. Then there was Nevada, and then South Carolina basically two days ago. They had breezed through caucuses and primaries, a team of people who had been best friends since they were ten.

But Peter must have already been working with the Black campaign for quite some time, so everything had to be a pretty illusion she didn’t want to give up. Since flashes of Remus’ past were exposed in the morning, Andromeda had been through every interaction she had had with Peter in the past months. A little uncertainty here and there, longer hours than usual, a little bit of secrecy and forced smiles—Andromeda had written it off as a sign of exhaustion, of a campaign weighing down on him. She would never in a million years think he had been working with her sisters, of all people in the world, for the opposite party with ideas he couldn’t have really supported. 

Andromeda couldn’t find it in herself to be really mad at him the way she thought she was supposed to. Peter had always been smart but quiet, a little too shy, and a bit under-the-influence type. He was easy prey for Bellatrix, she was sure of that. He was easy prey for Narcissa. So, instead of being angry at Peter, she was absolutely furious with them. Even more with Narcissa than with Bellatrix, because she knew all too well how they operated, years of growing together and then apart still etched in her memory. Bellatrix may be the candidate, the one running for President after being groomed by Riddle for years, but Andromeda wasn’t foolish like many other people were. She knew Narcissa was the one who was running _things_ , from every decision made to every article printed and every word said after being carefully crafted and approved by her. 

Andromeda shook her head, realizing she got a bit carried away as she always did when the thoughts of her sisters were invading her mind. When she looked up from the notebook still lying in front of her, she was met with Nymphadora’s concerned eyes. Andromeda sent a small, meaningful smile her way, and then turned to Lily. The redhead was staring at an opposite wall, just past Nymphadora, and seemed to be as deeply in thought as Andromeda herself was just a little while ago. There was a slight crinkle on Lily’s forehead, the one she would always get than she was thinking _too_ hard, even back when they were teenagers preparing for an upcoming test. 

It was gone barely two seconds after Andromeda acknowledged its existence, and Lily’s features smoothed, became softer with something suspiciously reminding… triumph. So Andromeda waited for the name of a person who would be _the_ perfect candidate for the communications director position. It must have been what all of this was about. But then Lily said, “Sweatpants and yesterday’s blouse are not really the clothes I fancy having on at work. I think I’ll go change.” 

And with that, she was gone in an instant, leaving behind a trail of leathery perfume, accompanied by Nymphadora’s eloquent, “What the actual fuck was _that_?”

What the actual fuck, indeed. 

* * *

“Mione!”

Ultimately, the urgency in the voice was the only reason Hermione jolted awake. She was too groggy to recognize it just yet, so she looked around, taking in her surroundings. The sun was shining through the half-closed curtains, and there was a mess of red hair on the pillow next to her. She heard light snoring, and then a barely audible, “Bloody hell, Harry...”

So, Harry was the one calling for her. Hermione ran a hand through her hair, turning to her bedroom door and eyeing it expectantly. Three, two, one...

“Mione!” Harry almost took the door off the hinges as he entered the room, still in his pajamas, a half-crumpled paper in his right hand. 

Hermione glanced at the clock on her nightstand—7:30 in the morning, for God’s sake, and on _Sunday_ , the day she turned off every alarm and decided to sleep in for the first time in what felt like months. Or maybe years. Of course, Harry would choose to barge into her room today, shouting her name with such urgency as if the world was ending. “If it’s not about the election, then I’m seriously considering murdering you,” Hermione grumbled what was meant as a joke. She pulled covers closer to her body, intending to go back to sleep. 

But Harry’s face twisted in _something_ , and suddenly,she was wide awake. She groaned ever-so-slightly, pushing the sheets aside and getting out of bed. “What is it?”

“It’s about Uncle Remus,” Harry said, casting a quick glance at what Hermione recognized was a new issue of _The Washington Prophet._ Then, he looked up at her, and added, “It’s bad. Like, really, _really_ bad.”

Hermione’s interest was piqued in an instant, and she basically dragged her best friend out of her bedroom, closing the door behind them and leaving Ron to his snoring. She headed towards the kitchen area, Harry trailing behind her. She took a Starbucks cappuccino drink from the fridge and downed half of it before turning back to Harry and asking, “How bad is ‘bad’, exactly?” 

“I think Peter is the one who leaked information to the Black campaign, and I’m sure Uncle Remus will have to resign. Effective immediately.”

Hermione was sure that if she was drinking, she would spat it out. Instead, she simply choked on air. After her brief coughing session, she gripped the kitchen counter and croaked out, “ _What?_ You mean they lost not only their campaign manager but a communications director, too?” She took in a deep breath, clearing her throat, and then asked, “Is there any chance Lupin can stay?”

Harry handed her a half-crumpled newspaper. “You tell me.”

Hermione reached for it and leaned on the kitchen counter, studying the first page. Because, of course, news about Remus Lupin _had_ made the first page. As if it wasn’t bad already, Rita Skeeter’s name on the byline made it ten times worse.

The article was about something that happened more than twenty years ago when Lupin pointed a gun at one of his bullies. It was approximately six hundred words of dwelling on that fact. Hermione was sure she had already seen the word ‘gun’ fourteen times, and she wasn’t even _halfway_ through it. 

She didn’t need to finish reading it to reply to Harry, because the message written on the first page was as clear as a cloudless sky.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” She watched Harry’s shoulders slump. “It’s an incredibly thought-out attack. He could have stayed if that was uncovered in literally _any_ other way, but _this?_ ” She lifted the paper and then threw it away, watching it fly to the floor. “The Blacks knew what they were doing. I don’t think there’s any coming back from this. Not for Lupin.”

Hermione filled her words with as much compassion and sympathy as possible, but she could already feel the wheels turning in her head. That was quite a scandal. The Tonks campaign needed good press now, needed to focus on something not so violent. It could draw the attention away, she mused. “Hey, Harry,” she said absent-mindedly, “have you talked to your mom yet?”

He shook his head. “I decided against calling. It’s probably a literal _hell_ out there for her, and for Andy, too.” 

“Wasn’t Lupin in foster care?” Hermione asked, tapping on the kitchen counter with her fingertips. 

And that was the moment when Harry had finally looked at her and noticed The Crinkle. He got used to seeing it on his mother’s face, and when he had first seen it on Hermione’s in their second year in undergrad, he almost fainted. They had been studying for their comparative politics exam, and when Hermione had been browsing through her notes and memory cards with utmost attention, he had noticed The Crinkle. 

Just like with his mother, The Crinkle between her eyebrows meant that Hermione was deeply in thought. It took him about three seconds to realize what exactly she was thinking. “Are you trying to figure out how they can get out of this mess?” he asked, and if there was a slight accusation in his tone, he chose not to dwell on it.

Hermione’s gaze snapped to his face, and that calculating look turned into something softer. “I—of course not,” she huffed, absolutely unconvincingly. “It would be extremely... insensitive.” Harry just _looked_ at her. Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, “Okay, maybe I am. But, in my defense, there’s a road they can take, a foster care system. Reveal its cracks. Go with the ‘the system is the core reason for violence in Remus Lupin’s case.’”

“Oh,” Harry said, looking somewhat puzzled, as he did every time Hermione talked about politics. “I hadn’t really thought about it. It’s a good angle. Maybe you could pitch it to my mom?” he suggested, hopeful as ever.

“Harry, you sound just like Ronald.” She shook her head, a small, disbelieving smile tugging her lips. “We’re talking about Lily Evans Potter here, who is working with Andromeda Tonks, _who_ is running for the Office.I’m pretty sure they got it all figured out in under two minutes.”

“Well, you did, too,” Harry noticed, nudging her side.

Hermione let out a laugh, shaking her head once again. “Whatever.” She pushed off the kitchen counter and headed to the fridge, taking out two yogurts. “Want one?” 

“What choice do I have?” Harry asked, squinting to see the flavors. He was in such a rush after getting newspaper by mail that he completely forgot about his glasses. Without them on, he distinctly reminded Hermione of a squirrel. 

“Well, since one of them is chocolate chip, you don’t really have one.” She chuckled and handed her best friend the other one, which turned out to be pomegranate flavored. 

Harry groaned. “Again?”

Hermione shrugged, trying to keep herself from laughing. She took two tablespoons from one of the drawers and handed one to Harry, who was still grumbling about how he never got the flavor he wanted. 

They ate in comfortable silence, until Hermione broke it with a tentative, “Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “I wish someone called me and just explained what the hell is going on,” Harry admitted, a shade of guilt lacing his tone. “I’m really worried about Uncle Remus because he loves this job. And about Andy, too, because they make a pretty good team, if... what was that again? North Carolina and—”

“South Carolina,” she corrected him. “And their numbers were pretty good after New Hampshire, too.”

Harry nodded. “And I’m also worried about mom. Like, what if the Blacks decide to go after her next?” he asked no one in particular, his gaze hardening at the mere thought. “They got their hands on Peter, got him to _betray_ mom and dad and Uncle Remus and Andy. What if Narcissa Black just, I don’t know, decides to destroy my mother’s career on a whim?”

“I doubt it could be done.” Hermione rolled her eyes on confusion on her friend’s face. “Harry, your mom is politically perfect. No shady backstory, a great education, a happy marriage with two kids. An attractive appearance.” Harry cringed at the last part, making Hermione laugh. “My point is… do you even know how rare is that? Narcissa Black may be a political Godzilla, but she is no God. She won’t do something to lose her credibility, and any attack against Lily’s picture-perfect everything would be exactly that.”

Harry chuckled. “You know, this politically perfect thing? It’s not that rare as you make it to be.” 

Hermione just raised her left eyebrow at the statement, and Harry rushed to explain. “I mean, here you are. Sitting there, in front of me. Being pretty politically perfect,” he drawled. “Well, except for this petty theft you have on your record. I can’t find any other name for what you’re doing by taking chocolate chip yogurt all to yourself.”

She pushed at his shoulder, barely using any force. “Very funny.”

“Why didn’t you sign up as volunteer?” he asked the question that was nagging him since the start of Andy’s presidential campaign. 

“Because volunteers don’t get paid, Harry,” Hermione said in that tone that made him feel a little bit stupid. “Besides, I don’t think I have to remind you that I have a full-time job. With only one day off a week, and that’s if I’m lucky.”

Harry wrinkled his nose at the mention of her job. “Your job is _boring_ , Mione.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but shut it less than in a second. She couldn’t really fight Harry on this one. She knew her job was kind of important—she was working for Congresswoman McGonagall, after all. But this was probably the most spectacular thing about her career, because it was, indeed, boring as hell. There was nothing particularly exciting about it—just filling out forms, bringing coffee, and ghostwriting great speeches and organizing events others got credit for. Hermione was pretty sure Minerva McGonagall hadn’t even remembered about her existence, and she tried no to feel too bitter about it.

 _It’s just a first step,_ she reminded herself. _Even though it's a long one._

The truth was that it had been eight months since she graduated Stanford, and seven months since she started working for Congresswoman McGonagall’s office. The job paid well, and would certainly look good on her resume ~~if~~ when she decided to leave, but that was it. There was no drive about it, no game, no adventures she had wanted when she decided to go into politics and communications. 

“It’s not,” she replied after too much of a pause, sounding unsure even for her own taste. 

“Uh-huh. Let’s pretend I actually believe you.” Harry winked at her in this child-like way he always did. A soft chuckle escaped Hermione’s lips because if there was one thing she knew about Harry, it was that he couldn’t wink to save his life. “So, I really think you should—”

Hermione knew he would talk about volunteering, _again_ , so she almost shouted an excited _thank God!_ when they heard his phone ringing. Harry threw her a dark look that told her she wasn’t entirely off the hook yet and went to his bedroom to fetch his cellphone.

At the same time, Hermione threw away yogurt packaging and rinsed the spoons, putting them back in the drawer. It didn’t look like Harry was coming back anytime soon, so she slipped into her own room, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible. Hermione brushed her teeth and took a quick one-minute shower before returning to her room, stilling in front of her closet, still wrapped in the towel. She was trying to decide between sweatpants and leggings for the day when the door swung open, _again_.

“Mione!” Harry called out, even more urgency in his voice this time.

“For the love of God, Harry, I’m practically naked,” she hissed at him, gesturing at her state of undress and then at Ron to tell Harry not to wake him. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, turning away as quickly as he could. Hermione could see the faintest blush creeping up his cheeks. “So, I kinda need your help. It’s a matter of national importance and blah-blah-blah.”

She narrowed her eyes, close to burrowing a hole in the back of his head. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe you could, um, put something on? Your work clothes, preferably.” Before Hermione could ask any questions, he slipped out of the room as quickly as he appeared.

Hermione turned to look at her clothes again and sighed, already exhausted, and it wasn’t even _eight_. She pulled out of the closet one of her favorite pantsuits and glanced longingly at the items she was looking at before Harry barged it. It looked like sweatpants would have to wait another week. 

* * *

“Well? Is that acceptable?” Hermione asked as soon as she entered the living room, spreading her hands in a mocking gesture. Her slacks and blazer were the lightest shade of navy blue, giving a faint hue to her hazel brown eyes. She chose to wear a simple white cotton shirt under the blazer and a pair of beige oxfords, which would go well with the trench coat. Her hair had always been a more complicated task, so she spent about five minutes trying to figure out some sort of updo. None of her attempts were successful, so Hermione just let it loose after combing them for what felt like seventy times in a row. 

“You look _great_ ,” Harry said, actually _grinning_.

That left Hermione completely, utterly puzzled. She knew he had been talking with both of his parents and probably with Lupin, too, so the look of absolute happiness and triumph was quite confusing. Maybe they had found a way to keep Lupin on the team? Hermione seriously doubted that, and that raised about twelve more questions in her mind. She was halfway through the seventh one when her train of thought halted to a stop, thanks to Harry.

He took a few steps forward until he was standing right in front of her, and pinned something to her blazer's left lapel. When he stepped aside, she noticed it was a customary _Tonks for President_ pin, a USA flag behind the words and Andromeda’s smiling face. 

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Okay, did you sign me up as a volunteer for the campaign without telling me?” 

“What? No!” Harry stuttered unconvincingly. He chuckled nervously. “It’s just, both my mom _and_ Unccle Remus need my help. There’s a binder Uncle Remus needs, and he’s like, halfway across the city. But mom is out of her spare outfits, and there are usually two garment bags in my closet just in case. It’s pretty convenient since campaign headquarters are four blocks down from our apartment building.”

Hermione frowned, casting a quick glance over Harry’s shoulder and noticing the garment bag on the couch. “So you want me to—”

“Deliver my mom’s clothes to her so she could avert crises looking impeccably and not wearing sweatpants? Yeah,” he finished for her, his eyes actually _gleaming_. Harry surely didn’t look like the person who got told his Uncle Remus had to quit his job. No, he looked like he just got told his parents were going to buy him a car. Or an island.

“On my only day off. At eight o’clock. On _Sunday_.” Hermione narrowed her eyes, letting her annoyance show. So much for sleeping in, so much for wearing sweatpants all day. 

“It’s a matter of national importance!” Harry practically _shrieked_ , and oh, if Hermione hadn’t already been suspecting he was up to something, she would've totally started doing it now. “We’re talking about press-secretary of the future _President_ of the United States, Mione,” he said in that voice as if he was actually _scolding_ her. 

“Let’s pretend I believe you,” Hermione answered dubiously. Her gut was telling her something was very wrong, but she still walked to the couch and took the garment bag in her hands. 

Harry came from behind her and pulled her into a tight embrace, muttering an over-excited, “Thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

Yeah. Something was really, _really_ wrong. She just couldn’t figure out what.

* * *

In Hermione’s opinion, the headquarters for the Tonks campaign was quite impressive. It was a huge open space filled with tons of glass cubicles and buzzing with energy. There were a few rooms with walls that weren’t made of glass, and she supposed it was the candidate’s and Mrs. Potter’s offices. 

Upon arriving, she collided—quite literally—with James in the hall, and he didn’t seem surprised at seeing her. Hermione got the impression that he was intentionally stalling her because it was the only explanation she could find for his countless questions on a day like this. She knew there were about four different things he needed to take care of after Skeeter’s article, but he still spent five minutes of his time bugging her with questions about her breakfast, of all things. James also was glancing at his Apple Watch literally every twenty seconds, and on the sixth minute of their conversation, he interrupted her to tell her how sorry he was he couldn’t give her more of his time. He practically flew out of the hall, ducking into one of the open offices with glass walls, and all Hermione could do was stupidly blink. 

She went ahead and halted to a stop only when she found herself in the middle of it all. The phones were ringing at least on eight or nine different tables, volunteers in campaign t-shirts were scattered around the room, carrying coffee cups or piles and piles of documents. There was a lot of shouting, do-this and do-that’s, and also a really loud and truly exasperated, “I need two more cups of coffee if I want to get through today without murdering anyone.” 

The voice was muffled because of all the noise, but Hermione still found it distinctly familiar. She turned around and ended up being face-to-face with Lily Evans Potter, who didn’t look half as bad as Harry told her when he described his mother’s clothes. No, Lily actually looked the way she always did, in a grey pantsuit and a dark green top, her red hair in a stylish updo Hermione was ready to kill for this morning. 

“Mrs. Potter?” Hermione asked, not even bothering to hide her surprise and confusion at the woman’s appearance. Lily Evans Potter sure didn’t look like it was a matter of national importance to get her out of the sweatpants. God, _sweatpants_. Hermione groaned inwardly, a little envious of Ron, who was probably still sleeping back in their apartment. 

“Mione, it’s so good to see you!” Lily pulled her into a quick one-armed hug, her over-enthusiastic voice and a radiant grin leaving Hermione even more puzzled than she had already been. “And how many times do I have to tell you? It’s just Lily.”

Hermione nodded. “Lily. Okay.” She gave the older woman a quick once-over, trying to find a coffee stain or a piece of ripped fabric in her pantsuit, but there was nothing of the sort. “I’m sorry, but you look impeccably—ready to take on the world, really—so what am I doing here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry for dragging you out of your bed at that ungodly hour,” Lily said in that tone of voice that told Hermione she wasn’t sorry at all. “I found this one in the back of my closet about five minutes before your arrival. Sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, nothing to worry—”

Lily didn’t let her finish, cutting her off with an ecstatic, “Actually, I had a chat with Harry. He recounted your conversation to me, and I was pleased to hear your thoughts about how you would deal with the fall-out from that hideous article.” Hermione refrained from calling Harry an asshole just because he was Lily’s son, but she still couldn’t help the slight parting of her lips. “Actually, I was impressed. It was almost the exact same idea Andy talked about earlier today when we had a briefing.” 

“She did?” Hermione couldn’t help but ask, her heart fluttering at the thought. She strongly believed that Andromeda Tonks would be the one to end Tom Riddle’s presidency and stop Bellatrix Black from taking the Oval over from him. And finding out she had a similar way of thinking with one of the few politicians she actually liked and was ready to stand behind? It was pretty damn amazing. 

Lily just hummed, looking slightly over Hermione’s shoulder, not meeting her eyes. “You know, I think I’ll actually use that outfit you brought sometime in the future,” she said absent-mindedly, reaching for the garment bag. “I have to take this to my office, and then answer one or two calls. Can you wait for me here? It will take five minutes, tops. I would like to thank you for your help. Breakfast, maybe?” 

Before Hermione could thank her for the offer but say that she should really head home to _sleep_ , Lily hurried away to what Hermione supposed was the woman’s office, but looked more like a conference room, with glass walls and a giant table littered with papers. 

Hermione looked around, searching for a place to sit down, but found that there was literally no one who was doing that. Everyone was running or standing, and the only people who were sitting were on the floor, packing parcels with brochures or typing furiously on their laptops. She kept looking until her eyes landed on the girl who was the only one behind her desk, staring at her computer screen. She looked fresh out of high school, with blonde hair in a messy bun and an expression that told Hermione she could cry any second. Hermione looked around once again, watching if anybody had seen the girl’s state of distress and was coming to help her, but everyone was busy with their own tasks. There wasn’t any sight of Lily, either, so Hermione sighed and headed towards the girl’s cubicle. 

When she came closer, the girl jumped—actually _jumped_ , for the love of God—and looked up to meet Hermione’s gaze. The blonde’s eyes were the darkest shade of blue, pleading and gleaming with unshed tears as if Hermione’s arrival was the sign of her being kicked out to the curb.

“Hello. Do you need any help?” Hermione asked patiently, her lips quirked in a soft, timid smile so not to scare the girl off—she had already looked like she was contemplating running for heels or jumping out of the window. 

“Yes—no—yes,” the girl muttered in one breath. 

“Okay.” Hermione nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Hannah.”

“So, Hannah,” Hermione drawled. “You’re one of the volunteers, right?” The customary t-shirt was the most telling sign, as well as the girl’s age, so Hermione wasn’t surprised when the girl nodded shakily. “And why are you volunteering?”

“Well, I—I think Senator Tonks would make a great President, and I support her opinions on, like, most things. Everything, really,” Hannah blurted out. “I’m in my senior year, and we do this thing in our political science class where we can choose to learn theory or… try it out in real life?” The blonde looked up at Hermione as if checking that she was following on. “And just that day, after I talked with my counselor, I found out there were still a few volunteer positions left with the schedule that fits my school one. So, I signed up, and now… I’m more than sure I’m failing spectacularly.” 

“What were you asked to do?” Hermione asked, leaning over the girl’s shoulder to look at her computer screen. There were at least six different tabs open on the home screen, one of which was Microsoft Word, and the other one was Excel. 

“There’s this speech someone from the editorial wrote. About Mr. Lupin’s resignation and its reasons?” Hannah clicked the mouse and showed her the document with typed words. “So, Ms. Evans asked some volunteer to check it, so it would be like, politically correct? And that some volunteer is me. Obviously,” she huffed, clearly annoyed with herself more than with anyone else. “And I don’t even know what to look for. It’s my fourth day, and so far, all I’ve been doing was coffee runs or office runs when I just bring documents from one place to another. So, all kinds of errands, really,” Hannah explained, looking up to see if Hermione followed. “And now I was tasked with something _real_. Important. And I can’t even figure out what to do, and I tried asking a few people a couple of times, but mostly they just shout at me to do it all myself because we’re in a crisis mode, as if I don’t know that. I tried to get ahold of Ms. Evans, but she’s just—I couldn’t. She’s like, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Like a hurricane or something. You know what I mean?”

Hermione chuckled. That sure sounded like Lily Evans Potter she had known since she was eleven. “I think I do, yeah.”

“So, that’s it. And I think I’m hyperventilating. And I don’t even know if I should be telling you that. For all I know, you might be from the Black campaign.” Hannah looked shaken at the thought, wide-eyed and absolutely horrified. “God, please, tell me you’re not.” The blonde looked Hermione over and breathed out in relief as soon as she spotted the _Tonks for President_ pin. “Oh thank God. But still, I don’t even know your name. What’s your name? Sorry for all the rambling. I tend to do that when I’m nervous.”

Hermione let out a soft laugh. “Nothing to worry about, Hannah. And my name is Hermione Granger.” 

Hannah’s brow furrowed as she tried to scramble through all the names she had learned in the past fourth days. “I don’t think I know you? You aren’t a volunteer, are you? Because you surely don’t look like one. In _that_ suit…” She paled as she realized what she had just said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that! I mean, I did, but—God. I wanna die. High school is a piece of cake compared to, you know, all of that. Politics and pretty women.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at that. She found the girl’s rambling quite adorable. “So, what do you say if I help you check that speech?” she asked instead of commenting on anything that was said. “I had to take a class in my first year of undergrad, which was just about that. Making sure things are politically correct, and there’s not a thing that can, you know…” she trailed off, unsure how to explain. 

“Start a war or something like that?” Hannah chuckled. 

“Exactly.” Hermione nodded, and then looked over at the computer screen, hovering over the girl, her left hand on the table supporting her weight. She read through the speech in under a minute and frowned. “That speech is…” She scrambled for the right word that wasn’t ‘totally incorrect’, ‘horrible’, ‘dreading’, ‘awful’, and all the synonyms for these words that could be found in fifty-two different languages. 

“You think it’s awful, too?” Hannah quite literally beamed at that. Hermione thought she looked much younger with that broad grin on her face, which only grew wider when she nodded. “Thank God, I thought I was seeing things.”

“You most certainly weren’t,” Hermione assured her. “It focuses too much on what had happened, on the fact of the violence rather than on the fact _what_ had brought it. And it reminds me of Rita Skeeter’s article?” She turned her head to the right and looked at the blonde, raising her eyebrows in the unspoken question of whatever Hannah had read it or not. As soon as the blonde nodded, Hermione continued, “Too many guns and too few reasons.”

Hannah hummed in agreement, still looking at the monitor as though it was her mortal enemy. Seeing the look of sheer determination on the girl’s face, Hermione got an idea. “What do you say if we rewrite it?”

Hannah blinked, actually _staring_ at her now. “What?”

“With a speech like that, checking it for being politically correct basically means editing, and editing, in turn, actually means rewriting.”

“Can… Can we do that?” Hannah lowered her voice. “Won’t I get kicked out? Won’t you get fired?”

Hermione chose not to tell the girl she actually didn’t work here. She was one-hundred percent sure Hannah might freak out at disclosing so much information to someone who wasn’t a part of the campaign staff. “Everything will be fine. Let’s try it. So, the first sentence is easy. It’s just retelling of the fact that Remus Lupin isn’t Senator Tonks’ campaign manager anymore. And then, we mention the reasons.”

Hannah frowned. “Isn’t there like, one reason?”

“In my experience, there’s always a reason behind the reason.”

* * *

Andromeda was talking to Minerva in the conference room, Nymphadora sitting right behind her and taking notes when Lily all but barged into the room with an over-excited grin. “I found her!” she cried. Andromeda’s eyebrows shot up that. She didn’t think she would be seeing Lily happy, actually _happy_ anytime soon, not after everything that happened with Remus. 

“What?” she mouthed, half-listening to Minerva, but focusing all of her attention on her press-secretary.

“I found a new communications director for your campaign,” Lily elaborated. Suddenly, her grin turned into a triumphant smirk, and Andromeda immediately knew it was something big. This smirk was Lily’s political one, the one she would always throw at Narcissa whenever they crossed each other during primaries or various political events throughout the years. 

“Minerva, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to call you back,” Andromeda ended the call, putting down the phone. She looked at Lily expectantly, but when after a minute of silence, nothing was said, she asked, a bit impatiently, “Where is she?”

Lily ignored her question altogether, taking a quick step forward. “So, she has two degrees, Communications and PR in undergrad and Political Science in grad school. Both Stanford, top of her class, _and_ she was also a valedictorian in high school who graduated a year earlier,” Lily latched into an explanation, not allowing Andromeda or Nymphadora to get even one word in or ask a question. “She’s fluent in French, has a B2 in German and a B1 Spanish. And her appearance—she’s approachable, likable, stylish, and sometimes Harry even says she looks like a Disney princess. But she’s fierce, and ambitious, and undeniably loyal. I’ve known her for eleven years, and _God_ , she’s so smart. Quick-witted and stubborn, and won’t stop until she gets things done, but she has a high moral ground. She’s—”

Nymphadora actually snorted, chiming in. “Red, you’re talking like you’re in love with her.”

Lily blushed furiously. “I—you know, I always fall in love with people like that in our field. _From a political standpoint_ ,” she specified before Nymphadora could ask if James had known. Instead of bickering with the younger woman, she turned to look at Andromeda, hope filling her blue eyes. “So, Andy, what do you say?”

Andromeda looked at Lily, sensing that something was a bit off. An over-enthusiastic smile was a rare occurrence itself, especially on days like this one, but it was nervous fidgeting throughout Lily’s speech that gave her away. Andromeda narrowed her eyes and said, “There’s something you’re not telling me. Go on.”

Lily winced. “Um, she’s Harry’s best friend. And a roommate.” 

Andromeda’s eyebrows shot up at that, but she was sure it wasn’t everything she needed to know before making a decision. “And?” she drawled, tapping on the table with the tip of her pen.

“She’s twenty-two.” 

Andromeda was too shocked to even formulate a thought, so Nymphadora was the one who blurted out, “Um, excuse me? Do you mean she’s four years younger than me?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “I didn’t really _mean_ that, but it was implied, yes.”

Andromeda hummed quietly, trying to put together every piece of the puzzle Lily had given her. Description of the younger woman was oddly familiar as if she had heard it before but couldn’t quite pinpoint where and when. After all, Harry had a lot of friends, but Andromeda doubted Ronald would be the one Lily was talking about. It took her another minute, but she found the right name in her memory. “Are you talking about Hermione Granger? The one who—you mentioned she had been working for Minerva, for what, half a year?”

“Yes, that's her. And actually, it’s eight months,” Lily corrected her. 

“Don’t tell me you’re actually in love with your son’s best friend while being married,” Nymphadora kept on, a devilish spark in her eyes. “These petty political gossip blogs would totally _explode_.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lily hissed. She turned to look at Andromeda once again and said, “I know she’s really young, Andy. Believe me, I do. And I know she’s a little bit… inexperienced, but—”

“She’s in her twenties, Lil,” Andromeda breathed out. “You know what this age implies.”

“Well, _I_ don’t,” Lily replied, making Andy roll her eyes. “And Hermione doesn’t, too. The wildest thing she had ever done was staying up for forty-two hours to study for her finals in graduate school. And that’s about it. Her past is clean as a whistle, believe me. I’ve been there for the past eleven years to witness her grow up into this _person_ she’s now. And this person is great.”

Andromeda stayed silent for what felt like hours, but couldn’t be more than five minutes. Still, Lily couldn’t physically take it; she was ready to jump up and down in excitement and anticipation. “Andy, you know me,” she tried again. “You know I wouldn’t risk like that if I wasn’t sure. But we need a new communications director as soon as possible, and she fits the description we’ve sketched out perfectly.”

There was more silence. And more. By the time even Nymphadora stopped her whispered comments about Lily’s crush—which was absolutely _preposterous_ , thank you very much—Lily was pretty sure that Andromeda was going to say no and curse her six ways from Sunday. But instead, Andromeda just said, “Fine. Arrange a meeting.”

Lily grinned, inwardly applauding herself. “Well, actually…”

“Oh no,” Nymphadora muttered, shaking her head. “What did you do now, Red?”

“Hermione is kind of here. Right now. I’ll just go get her.” She turned around and looked around the open office through the glass walls of the conference room. It was easy to spot Hermione in her navy blue pantsuit, but the most interesting thing wasn’t her choice of clothes—and it was certainly _something_. The most interesting thing was the fact that Hermione wasn’t alone. She was hovering over the girl, one of the volunteers who had begun to work with them just the other week. Hannah, if Lily wasn’t mistaken? So, the most interesting fact was Hermione seemed to be actually _working_ on something. Lily scrambled through the mess of her thoughts and quickly remembered her last conversation with the blonde high-schooler—Hannah was supposed to work on checking the speech someone else had written. 

Lily actually jumped when she felt someone’s presence just behind her back. Nymphadora was peeking over her shoulder, curious as ever. “The girl in the navy blue pantsuit, light brown wavy hair? Is that her?” she asked, and Lily couldn’t do much but nod and keep watching. It looked like Hermione was saying something, and then Hannah was nodding at her words and typing with super-speed. Lily kept waiting, and after they had been at it for at least three minutes, she realized they were probably rewriting the whole speech instead of just editing it. To be honest, Lily didn’t expect anything less from an overachiever Hermione Granger was. 

Soon enough, Andromeda joined them, hands folded and her glance calculating. Andromeda was sure her best friend could practically hear the wheels turning in her head. 

The girl—or was she supposed to call her the younger woman?—was young, sure, but Andromeda wouldn’t be able to tell she was twenty-two if she had met her in the coffee shop or someplace else. She seemed and looked older, probably closer to Nymphadora’s age, and something told her Hermione Granger could possibly be twice as mature as her daughter. There was a certain aura surrounding the girl, her presence commanding attention, but not in the way Andromeda got used to after growing up with Bellatrix and Narcissa. Hermione was softer, not relying on fear, but rather on motivation and desire to help, be needed, and achieve. She was also dressed impeccably, her style undeniably similar to Lily’s, but this easy way she moved, talked, and even breathed was something Lily couldn’t do because of her age and experience.

The decision was made in a split-second. “Call her in then, since she’s already there,” Andromeda said, but before Lily could even think about leaving the conference room, she added, “Wait. Let them finish.”

All three of them stood there and watched the person Andromeda was pretty sure would become her communications director. 

* * *

“I think I could kiss you right now,” Hannah admitted, looking up at Hermione as if she was the reason the girl had still been alive. “Like, seriously. This is brilliant. Much better than the original speech.” 

Hermione let out a laugh, tossing her hair over her left shoulder. “I have to agree. But this was teamwork, Hannah. You did great. You’re okay with sending this to Ms. Evans? Speaking of whom, I should probably find her.” She glanced at her wristwatch and realized it had been about thirty minutes since Lily left her ‘for five minutes, tops’. “It was nice to meet you, Hannah, and a pleasure to work with you.” Hermione smiled and turned around, ready to wander the campaign headquarters searching for Lily, but she hadn't taken more than two steps before she ended up being face-to-face with the older woman. “Lily?”

The redhead was smiling—grinning, smirking, even? Hermione couldn’t quite tell, but Lily sure looked like she had just won the lottery, or her candidate won the presidential election. But Lily was strictly against gambling with money, and it still was nine months until the general election, so Hermione didn’t know what had brought that expression on. “There’s someone who would like to talk to you.” She glanced over her shoulder to the conference room. When Hermione followed her gaze, her eyes landed on Senator Andromeda Tonks herself. Her lips were slightly quirked, arms folded, and she was looking back at Hermione. 

She felt a faint blush creeping up her cheeks and the base of her neck, and at the next moment, she was sure she was white as a sheet. Hermione looked back at Lily, whose expression suddenly made all sense in the world, and hissed, “You and Harry were in this together, weren’t you?”

Lily shrugged nonchalantly and smiled oh-not-so-innocently. “Maybe we were. Maybe we weren’t. That’s not the point.” Before Hermione had a chance to get a word in, she continued, “The point is, Andy is waiting for you. So, go there and be your amazing self and just… charm her the way you always do with people.”

Hermione was ready to argue. She really was—she even opened her mouth. But she couldn’t even get a single word out before Lily had actually pushed her forward, and she practically stumbled these few steps that made the distance between Hannah’s cubicle and the conference room. She took in a deep breath and marched into the room, closing the door behind her. 

Senator Tonks was sitting at the center of a big round table. There was this unmistakable confidence literally floating in the air around her. Suddenly, it was abundantly clear who commanded everything in there, and Hermione was sure she would shiver under this studying glance if the eyes of the lighter shade of brown weren’t so soft up close. 

“Senator Tonks,” she forced herself to say, words coming out a little more breathless than she had intended to.

“Ms. Granger,” the older woman drawled, and that was about it. Hermione was almost ready to say ‘to hell with my job’ and sign up as a volunteer for the Tonks campaign, but the sense of responsibility she had grown with didn’t let her do that. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“I can imagine,” Hermione muttered, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder to the open space. Her eyes landed on Lily, still grinning and standing next to the younger woman with pinkish hair. Hermione recognized her as Nymphadora Tonks, Senator Tonks’ twenty-six-year-old daughter and a significant part of the advising team. 

Hermione shook her head and turned back to Senator Tonks, who was eyeing her in the most intense way Hermione had ever experienced. And she had experienced Molly Weasley’s Glare after the woman caught her and Ron in the same bed, so that was saying something.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Senator Tonks prompted, the slightest hint of a smirk evident in her features.

“Excuse me?” Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself. She was more than sure volunteers weren’t interviewed by the candidate herself, so everything had taken quite a strange turn. 

“Tell me about yourself,” the older woman repeated, and to be honest, that wasn’t really helpful.

Thankfully, Hermione had this speech down to a tee. “I went to Stanford for both undergraduate and graduate programs. Communications and PR in undergrad and Political Science in grad school. I’m fluent in French, have a B2 level in—”

“—German, and a B1 in Spanish,” Senator Tonks finished for her, seeming mildly… bored, even. “I know all of that. My press-secretary was quite vocal about your abilities.” She chuckled. “I want you to tell me something I don’t know. Why you are here, for example.”

Hermione let out a laugh. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

Senator Tonks raised her perfectly manicured eyebrow at that statement. “Oh?”

“I was supposed to bring a dress for Lily because sweatpants and a yesterday’s shirt isn’t a good enough outfit, but ended up rewriting a speech and talking with you instead,” she explained and shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy that. Especially the second part. I think I actually _screeched_ from excitement the moment I found out you were running.”

Senator Tonks tilted her head to the left and asked, genuinely interested, “And why is that?”

“Your platform is something important. It brings people _hope_ because you talk about things others tend to forget about. The important ones, the ones most stopped noticing because it became too easy to hide behind President Riddle’s reforms and new laws and oppressions. You talk about equality and having opportunities to make your own choices.” She sighed. “You’re actually the reason I decided to go into politics in the first place. I was about sixteen, my junior year in high school when you were running for Senate. I was spending the night at my best friend’s place, and my boyfriend came over. We were flipping through the channels and somehow ended up on a political one. It was a live-stream of your debate with current Senator for Virginia,” Hermione recalled. “And the next day, I was googling you and bugging Harry and Lily with endless questions, because they _knew_ you.”

Senator Tonks hummed quietly, and then popped the question which, Hermione could say for sure, was entirely out of the blue. “What do you think about my sister, Ms. Granger?”

Hermione blinked. “Vice-President Black? Or Ms. Black?”

“Both.”

Hermione sighed. “Vice-President Black is—” she paused, scrambling for the words which wouldn’t be too harsh, but found none. When Senator Tonks noticed her hesitation, she smirked, clearly amused at Hermione’s inner torture. “I would never support her the way she is now. Her ideas, her policies—they aren’t _hers_ , they are President Riddle’s. Political blogs call her a puppet with her muster behind the curtains, and I’m inclined to agree. I do not support discrimination on any grounds, and Senator Black is a hateful person. At least politically, from what I can tell.”

Senator Tonks nodded her agreement, tapping on her chin with her fingertips, as Hermione’s shoulders relaxed in relief. “And what about Narcissa?”

“She is something—someone entirely different,” Hermione said.

“She’s a Republican, running Bellatrix’s campaign. Was the one behind the attack on Remus Lupin. Therefore, shares President Riddle’s beliefs,” Senator Tonks listed, as if trying to make Hermione change her mind. “How is she different?”

Hermione sighed, shifting her weight. “They call her the Ice Queen, do you know that?” she asked and continued, not waiting for the answer. “In political gossip blogs. Her attacks are calculated, deliberate, and fierce. It’s clear she was behind poaching Peter Pettigrew, and he gave her all she needed to know about Remus Lupin’s past to strike. And that article? I’m eighty percent sure Ms. Black ghost-wrote it,” she chuckled. 

“You still didn’t say anything about why you think she’s nothing like my older sister.” 

“She never attacked your daughter. Not once. Not even when she was handed everything she needed on a silver platter.”

Senator Tonks met her eyes, and there was _something_ in them, something Hermione couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it told her she was doing everything right. Because they both knew what Hermione was talking about. 

Edward Tonks, a decorated war hero and Senator Tonks’ husband, died on duty when his daughter was sixteen. Nymphadora spiraled out of control, a classic combination of frat parties and drinking rampages and running away from home. As soon as Senator Tonks announced she was running for President, political blogs latched onto Nymphadora’s past as the means to drag the candidate down. Some other Democratic candidates were behind dubious articles, but they weren’t important enough to get much notice. The only campaign that could make a scandal out of Nymphadora’s way of grieving back when she was a teenager was the Black campaign. 

Harry had told her how Lily was on call every hour of every day, updating _The Washington Prophet’s_ website every twenty minutes. She was waiting for Rita Skeeter’s exposé, which, in her opinion, was inevitable. The only person who remained calm and focused was Senator Tonks. The article didn’t come, and neither Bellatrix nor Narcissa Black made any comments about rumors speculating on their niece.

“Her way of thinking—” Hermione continued, careful as ever. _Don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up,_ she thought. “It’s unique, in a sense. Ms. Black always thinks she’s ten steps ahead and is not reluctant to show it. That’s her main mistake. The way her mind works can be used against her, and she wouldn’t even know it.”

That was what Hermione chose to say. She didn’t mention that she thought Narcissa Black wasn’t as supportive of President Riddle’s policies as she appeared to be. She didn’t mention that day in undergrad when Draco Malfoy made out with Harry, and then he and Hermione had a conversation both of them vowed not to talk about with anyone ever again. She didn’t mention that supporting President Riddle and his protégé fully meant Narcissa would be forced to go against the person her son was. 

Hermione didn’t mention any of that, but somehow, it appeared that Senator Tonks knew nonetheless. She looked at her, her eyes gleaming with the words left unsaid and a silent appreciation, and for the first time in a while, Hermione wondered if Andromeda and Narcissa kept in touch, somehow. 

Senator Tonks looked over Hermione’s shoulder purposely, as if meeting eyes with someone—it was probably Lily, Hermione mused. They had had a silent conversation for about a minute, and when another one passed, the door to the conference room opened and revealed Lily with two different papers in her hands. As the woman walked past her to the place where Senator Tonks was seated, Hermione caught a glimpse and realized it was the speech she had been working on with Hannah, an original version of it and a rewritten one. 

Lily stood hovering other her boss’s shoulder as Senator Tonks looked through both of the papers. To be honest, Hermione was prepared for the worst when the fourth minute passed, and she still hadn’t heard any feedback. 

She wasn’t prepared for a smile on Andromeda Tonks’ face as she looked at Hermione and said, “Congratulations, Ms. Granger. The job is yours. Your trial run is Super Tuesday.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. She blinked. “Excuse me?”

Something was really, _really_ wrong. For starters, volunteers didn’t even have interviews. And what they were doing—it wasn’t called a job since they weren’t being paid for their work. And Hermione was sure as hell volunteers didn’t get trial runs, and damn, _Super Tuesday?_ It sounded not like a trial run but rather like a march of death, considering its importance. 

“The job is yours if you want it, Hermione,” Lily repeated, a warm, triumphant smile on her face as if she had known how Hermione’s meeting with Senator Tonks would end. Which she probably had. 

Hermione cringed inwardly, glancing up at Senator Tonks. “I would really love to be a part of your campaign, but I already work for Congresswoman McGonagall’s office. It’s a job with crazy hours and only one day off a week if I’m lucky, so I can’t be a volunteer for your campaign, even if I want to.”

And then, the most unimaginable thing happened. Senator Tonks laughed, truly _laughed_ , this deep, throaty sound filling the conference room and echoing off the glass walls. Hermione stood there, dumbfounded, having no idea of what was going on, and watched as Lily tried to keep herself from laughing along. Hermione replayed in her head everything she had said three times but couldn’t figure out what was so funny about any of it.

She couldn’t, until Senator Tonks stopped laughing, looked at her once again, and asked, dead-serious, a hint of smirk still evident in her features, “You thought I was interviewing you for a… volunteer position?”

“Yes?” Hermione answered, but this one word was literally a half-question. She couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. What was her own name, again? 

Senator Tonks and Lily exchanged meaningful glances and amused— _amused_ , for the love of God—smirks, and Hermione lost it. “Maybe someone could tell me what is going on?”

“She aced the job interview without even knowing what the job was,” Senator Toks said, tilting her head towards Lily. “I suppose you were right about her, after all.”

“Of course I was,” the redhead answered. “When have I ever been wrong?”

“I still don’t understand _anything_ ,” Hermione chimed in and sighed, exasperated. Both of the women looked at her, small smirks on their faces and eyes gleaming. 

“Andy here just offered you to be her new communications director, Mione,” Lily said in that voice as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

It certainly wasn’t.

* * *

Hermione’s hands were still shaking when she tried to put her key in the lock, managing to do it only on the third try. When she entered her apartment, she shut the door behind her and leaned onto it, closing her eyes. Hermione reminded herself she needed to breathe. In and out. In and out. In…

She went to the Tonks campaign headquarters to give Lily a change of outfit and got offered a job instead. And it wasn’t even a volunteer position she was talking with Harry about earlier this morning—it was something entirely different. Communications director. If she accepted, she would be Lily’s _boss_. (When she stated the fact, Lily huffed, “No, you won’t be,” at the same time as Senator Tonks smirked and said, “Yes, in a way.”)

And God, what would she do with her other job—with her _current_ job? There was a two-week-notice policy, after all. Or maybe it didn’t apply when the Democratic candidate for _President_ was poaching you? Hermione didn’t know. Something like that had never happened to her before. Did it happen to a lot of people her age? She doubted that. (Because she would be Lily’s _boss_ , and Lily was twenty years her senior. And her best friend’s mother who had known her since she was eleven. Hermione seriously doubted that Reddit had any bits of advice concerning her situation.)

She choked as she realized that she forgot about breathing out. She took in a deep, steadying breath next. When Hermione opened her eyes, Harry was standing right in front of her, a goofy smile plastered across his face. “Well? How was it?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she hissed, walking past him and heading straight to the kitchen area. She pulled off her blazer, threw it on the barstool, reached the fridge in record time, and took out a bottle of ice-cold fizzy water. As Hermione noticed Harry approaching her, she thought she needed something stronger, but it wasn’t even past nine in the morning on _Sunday_. 

“Well, if I _had_ told you, you would have said no right away,” Harry countered, slipping onto the stool and putting his elbows on the counter.

“I thought I was being interviewed for a volunteer position, not to be your mother’s _boss_.” Hermione opened the bottle and downed the whole thing in three big gulps. She threw it away and turned back to her best friend, feeling the slightest desire to throw something at him. “God, Harry. It’s just—it’s crazy. Do you understand how crazy is that?”

“What exactly is ‘that’ you’re talking about?” he asked, that little asshole who knew damn well what exactly she was talking about. 

“I’m twenty-two, I graduated only eight months ago, I’m thoroughly inexperienced, but somehow, by some goddamn _miracle_ , I still got offered a job thirty minutes ago. And not just _any_ job,” Hermione drawled, sounding like she was about to lose it. Which she probably was, Harry mused. “A job as a communications director for a _presidential_ campaign. When—does that even happen? God, am I still sleeping?” 

Harry was still grinning at her as if she wasn’t making any sense, and it wasn’t really helpful with the fact that Hermione felt like she was about to go into sensory overload any second now. Before she could continue venting, she heard a string of muffled voices from her bedroom. Her eyes snapped to the still-closed door, but it swung open a couple of seconds later. Hermione saw a smiling Ron, carrying a huge cake, and then the living room area was filled with her friends, all of whom were wearing party hats and tinsel. There was Ginny, who looked like she was half-asleep—Sunday was her only day off, too—but there was a radiant grin on her face, even bigger than both Ron’s and Harry’s. Next to her was Luna, still in her light-blue pajamas, her hair in a disarray of blonde curls, a timid smile tugging her lips. Neville had a large and colorful _Hermione Granger, communications director for Tonks campaign_ sign in his hands, and the look of utter happiness in his features made it seem like he had just won a lottery. 

Hermione put her hands to her mouth to cover a laugh that escaped her lips. She shook her head disbelievingly and walked over to them, Harry trailing behind her, and each and every one of her friends pulled her into a tight hug. She lingered next to her boyfriend as soon as he passed the take to Harry. 

“Guys, I hadn’t even accepted Senator Tonks’ offer yet,” she reminded them, unable to keep herself from smiling. 

“But you should, Mione,” Ron said as she looked up at him, her arms still around his waist, his right hand wrapped around her shoulder. “This job was made for you. You will totally _kill_ it.”

She laughed, and then she kissed him, accompanied by loud cheering from all their friends. When Hermione and Ron parted, she looked around, noting how happy her friends were for her, and she thought that maybe they were right. Maybe Lily was right, after all; perhaps, she would be good at it, and the job was indeed made for her.

Less than one hour later, after eating a huge cake and talking with her closest friends in the world, Hermione sent off a text to Senator Tonks’ number she got earlier today, four words that would change her life forever. _I accept your offer._

That night, she was lying in Ron’s arms on their bed. Every word was spelled out in hushed, gentle whispers. They were making promises to each other and themselves, and the first thing Hermione said was, “Don’t worry, Ron. This job—it won’t change anything. Not between us. Not me.”

Boy, was she wrong.


	2. ice queen’s kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, and Alecto Carrow, but, most importantly, Narcissa Black. 
> 
> A side note: My headcanon for Alecto's appearance is Miranda Otto aka Zelda Spellman from Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, if someone's wondering. I don't make the rules, it just is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **this chapter is for helena. thank you so much for being here and just being _you_ <3**

**MARCH 3**

_Super Tuesday_

First of all, it was important to mention that Pansy Parkinson loved her job. She had been immensely proud of herself since the day she entered the Black campaign headquarters and got the offer a month ago. In Pansy’s opinion, it would always be the first real thing she had done on her own, without her parents’ aid. She wasn’t as proud of her degree in Management and Economics as she would like to be since her parents were the ones to pay for her education at Stanford. Pansy remembered all too vividly telling her mother about a B she got for one of her finals. Next thing she knew, there was a donation made directly to the dean, and suddenly, her B turned into a shiny A+.

After graduating, she was supposed to be working for her parents’ tech-company, ParkinsonCorp. For a year, she had been climbing the ladder to her big promotion _very_ slowly because Penelope and Perseus Parkinson didn’t want any talks of nepotism mudding their name. But the thing was, there were talks. Whispers behind her back and insults spat out when people thought she hadn’t heard them—she _had_. Pansy loathed every second of her work life, from Monday to Friday, and the only thing keeping her afloat was Daphne and Draco. She was sure that she would’ve jumped off the fortieth floor within her first two weeks in the company if it wasn’t for them. 

She had always been surprised at how long she managed to stay. She hated engineering, physics, and just science altogether, and that was three things that represented her parents’ company and the products they were making. 

Pansy had been drowning, and her mother was considerate enough to notice it. Of course, she was also not attentive enough and misinterpreted the entire thing. Penelope believed her daughter was sick of her “underpaid” job and longed for the promotion that still had been a month away, so she decided it would be a good idea to send Pansy off to Washington to Narcissa, so she could spend some time with Draco. (Pansy had chosen to ignore this suggestive tone her mother had when she spoke about this.)

She hadn’t seen Draco in months, and while he was one of her closest friends, it was Daphne who she had missed terribly. Her best friend tended to fly off to New York for a visit every couple of months, always staying for a week or more. Still, after five years at Stanford University together, all of them spent being roommates, it felt strange being without Daphne in a city that hadn’t been her home for a long time. 

Of course, she had also longed to see Narcissa after what felt like years. To think of it, it had probably been two. Or maybe three. 

Narcissa Black had been in her life for the past fifteen years since the day Pansy met Draco at their ridiculously expensive and high-profile school. The older woman was entirely responsible for her gay awakening, and Pansy harbored a baby crush on Narcissa in her early teenage years. Or maybe it was a case of hero-worship—she didn’t quite manage to figure the whole thing out. After all, Narcissa Black slash ex-Malfoy was a real-life Godzilla in her work field _and_ insanely attractive.

The time Pansy came to visit in October was also when the current two-term President Riddle announced that his Vice-President, Bellatrix Black, would be taking part in the next presidential election. Narcissa was tasked with running her sister’s campaign, and personally, Pansy didn’t think the older woman had any say in this matter. Still, Narcissa had started working mercilessly as soon as the bomb was dropped on her. 

Draco had his work—an executive assistant to Congressman Augustus Rookwood—so they had mostly been hanging out in the evenings or on his non-existent days off. Pansy managed to spend her first week quite literally glued to Daphne’s side, but at the end of it, her best friend had to fly out to California to cover the latest senate race for her independent political blog. Therefore, Pansy was left with Narcissa. 

The older woman was drowning under the workload suddenly sprung on her. So one night, after finding Narcissa passed out in the kitchen at four in the morning, papers littered across the counter, Pansy said, “You better get a personal assistant or something. It doesn’t look like you’re handling the whole thing very well.” 

And Narcissa snapped at her, which was quite expectedly. “Well, maybe you want to become one, Ms. Parkinson? At least paying you will rid me of your unbidden remarks.” Her words were cold, scathing, and icy blue eyes were throwing daggers at her. Barely twenty minutes later, Narcissa backtracked and apologized—well, in her own kind of way, because Pansy was more than sure she had never, ever heard Narcissa Black say sorry. Not to one living or dead soul. 

After that incident, somehow, Pansy did exactly what Narcissa kind of offered her to do—for the rest of her stay in Washington, she acted as Narcissa’s executive assistant, predicting her every whim before the older woman could even think about it. 

So, as the month passed and her time to go back to New York and accept that promotion finally came, Pansy didn’t board her flight. Instead, she had ignored calls from her parents after sending a letter of resignation to the ParkinsonCorp, moved in with Daphne, and started officially working as Narcissa’s executive assistant and actually getting paid for it. It was small tasks at first, like keeping up with her schedule and getting everything she needed, arranging meetings, and bringing coffees at four in the morning. All that crap Pansy had always seen personal assistants do in the movies like _The Devil Wears Prada_ or _The Proposal_. Still, it was a far cry better job than the one she had under her parents’ thumb, and for the first time in her life, Pansy felt that she was independent. 

She lived in one city with Draco, being roommates with Daphne once again, and her boss was, well, quite literally _Narcissa Black_ herself. Pansy wasn’t just content with her life. By the end of December, after spending her Christmas with Daphne and then New Year’s with Narcissa, Draco, Daphne, and the Lestranges, she found herself loving it, even. 

The most surprising thing, though, was the fact that Pansy actually got _interested_ in politics. She supposed it was inevitable, considering her job for Narcissa and the fact that her first best friend was running a political blog while her second one was working for a Congressman's office. And there was also a matter of her living in Washington now, the city where people considered you a wildcard if you hadn’t read The Washington Prophet during breakfast. 

Her interest was subdued at first. She reread every post on Daphne’s blog one night until she passed out at eight in the morning on her only day off. Then, when Draco needed to fetch a binder from her and Daph’s apartment, she offered to bring it to him instead. Pansy ended up spending her day at Congressman Rookwood’s office, learning about his work from Draco, and even chatting with other staff members. To add up, she started asking Narcissa questions about how the presidential election worked, masking her interest in trying to do her job as Narcissa’s assistant better. 

By the end of January, all important names and dates and events connected with the presidential election were etched into her brain. Of course, she still thought that she managed to hide her interest, but soon enough, Pansy realized there was no hiding anything from Narcissa Black.

So, on February 1, just two days away from Iowa caucuses, Narcissa texted her and told her to stop by the Black campaign headquarters. Which was borderline strange. Not that Pansy hadn’t been there before—she had, of course, for coffee runs and fetching stuff and dry-cleaning and just all sorts of things a personal assistant could be needed for. But she had never, ever lingered. When she recognized her growing interest in politics, she brought it up to Narcissa, that maybe she could hang out there more often. 

“You spend all day long there. Sometimes even nights. Me being there too would be more productive,” she said that day. Narcissa answered calmly, telling her it wasn’t a good idea, but there was steel in her voice the brunette had rarely heard. Pansy had dropped the subject and hadn’t brought it up again. 

After coming to the headquarters, she was met with usual buzzing energy. She went straight for Narcissa’s office, dark wood everywhere, every piece of furniture made of it. The office had always felt too heavy to her, and she couldn’t imagine how Narcissa managed to work there. It distinctly reminded Pansy of a cave. 

Narcissa had been a little off that day. Pansy was sure not many people could tell, but her ability to notice came from fifteen years of knowing the older woman. Still, she couldn’t have possibly predicted that their meeting would start with Narcissa offering her another job. Pansy had been so shocked she ended up dropping americano she had been holding—yes, admittedly, not her finest moment. And then she blinked, stared, and blinked again, and actually _gaped_ . So, _so_ not her proudest moment. 

The job Narcissa was offering had been a scheduling coordinator. The one the Black campaign had before was _let go of_ —Narcissa’s phrasing, not hers. Pansy assumed the older woman was the one to fire him for his incompetence. But—not the point. 

The point was that Pansy didn’t exactly _support_ Tom Riddle or his protégé, Bellatrix Black. She had always found their agenda quite insulting and discriminating. President Riddle’s outspokenness towards his gruesome opinion on the LGBTQ+ community hit too close to home. She had never voted for him, although her parents certainly did, and Pansy couldn’t imagine herself voting for Vice-President Black for the next President of the United States. She was fairly sure she was going to end up voting for Andromeda Tonks instead. All Senator’s policies were great, for starters. Still, the main reason Pansy was on her side was her unwavering support for minorities, even after all the ways Senator Tonks had been criticized for it. 

By that look on Narcissa’s face, Pansy figured the older woman had known all of the thoughts running through her mind that day. But there was something else in her expression. This softness that was there only with Draco and the Lestrange girls in the room. And that day, it was directed at _her_ , and Pansy immediately knew that Narcissa came as close to saying _I need you_ as she ever could. 

Pansy wasn’t a Republican, resented President Riddle and Vice-President Black with all her might, but still took the job, just because Narcissa asked her. As if to make her stay in case she ever changed her mind, Narcissa had brought Daphne on the team the day after, giving her all their social accounts to manage. 

Pansy had spent the past month working her ass off, but she had to admit she kind of loved it. She tried not to think about the person who was paying her, and the fact that she wasn’t interacting with Vice-President Black that much was a great reassurance Narcissa made sure she could have. She was mostly planning events with Daphne and still kind of being Narcissa’s personal assistant because she got used to her schedule after four months of working for her. Since a fair share of Narcissa’s plans included Rodolphus Lestrange’s daughters, Pansy was quite good at knowing the man’s schedule, too. It was almost as hectic as Narcissa’s, swamped with meetings and calls a communications director couldn’t pass on. 

So, the point was—she really, _really_ loved her job. Even when it was two in the morning, and she was still at her desk. Even when it didn’t look like she was going to be getting out of there for the next two hours. Or twenty-two. Or maybe two whole days—she didn’t know. With her job, she could never be sure when she and Daphne would be getting home. Speaking of Daphne—

“My brain hurts,” she groaned from her place two desks away from Pansy’s. “Like. Not just my head. Or my eyes. It’s my entire brain.” Daphne started banging her head against the wooden surface, and Pansy refrained from commenting that it wouldn’t help her headache. As soon as her best friend was done, she looked up, her eyes bleary and a bit watery, even. “I think I’ve been staring at screens for the past twenty hours. My eye doctor is gonna hate me.” 

Pansy chuckled. “He probably will, honey.” 

She sighed and swiveled in her chair, looking around the open space. It was dimly lit. Almost everyone had been long gone by now. The volunteers and the interns left by six o’clock, as they usually did, while the minor campaign staff had lingered till the clock hit nine. By nine-thirty, Pansy, Daphne, Narcissa, Rodolphus, and a few other people, such as their field and finance directors, were the only ones left. It wasn’t surprising, though—they tended to pull all-nighters every time a primary was looming around, and today was the day of the Super Tuesday. 

But it wasn’t just this day. A couple of them had been the result of a total of eight hours of sleep Pansy had gotten in _three_ days. Again, it was quite expected, with a carefully planned out attack on Remus Lupin, the Tonks’ campaign ex-manager. Pansy thought it had been in the works for a few months now, but she couldn’t be sure—Narcissa never mentioned it, so she supposed the only people who knew of what was coming might’ve been the President, the candidate, and Rodolphus. 

They had been getting _hundreds_ of calls since that article appeared in _The Washington Prophet_ on March 1. Pansy was glued to any surface in the office at all times. Scheduling was hell right now, with Bellatrix’s speeches and appearances and her wanting to make a few comments on her sister’s choice of staff. 

Daphne’s days were hell, too—she had been blocking and banning many people on Twitter, the ones who were trash-talking Vice-President Black and their entire campaign, undoubtedly Senator Tonks’ supporters. The other day Pansy thought about doing something like that with one of her fake accounts, but she decided against it. First of all, it could be easily traced back to her IP address, and that could result in her losing her job, which she loved. Second of all, there was Narcissa. 

If Daphne’s and Pansy’s and Rodolphus’ life were hell these past few days, then Narcissa’s was—well, she couldn’t even find any word to describe it. Sure, the older woman started everything herself—Pansy had no doubt it was her natural charm and this air of power around her that lured Peter Pettigrew in the death trap of working as a double-agent. Now he was a zero-agent since his friends would probably never talk to him again, and there was no job on the Black campaign waiting for him as he had expected. 

Pansy had been there when Narcissa entered the open office the morning the article had dropped, rounds and rounds of applause greeting her, the loudest of them all coming from Bellatrix. The older woman had put on her best fake smile that could even look real in certain lighting and ordered everyone to get back to work. Pansy could feel the slightest hint of unease within her, though. She supposed Narcissa would always feel that way after screwing her sister over, even if the said sister had long been estranged and disowned. Pansy thought it was understandable—it wasn’t just any strike, it was a personal one, and for a fleeting second, she felt this pang of _something_ in her chest. 

Before she could once again start questioning herself on what the hell was that, she focused her attention on Daphne, whose upper body was still on her desk. 

Pansy sighed once again and took a small bag of potato chips from one of her drawers. She headed towards Daphne’s desk, pulled over one of the swiveling chairs, and flopped down on it, nudging her best friend’s knee with her own. “Babe, you have to eat something. We skipped lunch, remember? We can’t die on Super Tuesday. Narcissa would _murder_ us.”

“Too tired to chew,” Daphne mumbled, still covered by the mess of blonde locks. 

Pansy frowned. It was the usual way Daphne acted when she was tired and overworked, but she had never really turned food down. She pulled up her chair closer, dropped a bag of chips on the desk, and put a hand on Daphne’s back. “Everything okay?” 

There was easily detectable concern in her voice, which seemed to snap Daphne out of whatever state she was in. She sat up straight and turned to look at her, eyes still a bit bleary but clearly more focused now. “Yeah. Just craving sleep, and—God, is that ketchup Cheetos?” She snatched the bag of chips before Pansy could answer that _yes, it is_ , and put a handful of them in her mouth. As soon as she chewed them all, she smiled. “You’re my favorite person.”

Pansy smirked. “Well, _obviously_.”

“But you know what would make me love you even more?” Daphne asked, feigning thoughtfulness. 

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes!” Daphne cried out, actually beaming now. “The killer Caesar from this place? You know, down the street, just two blocks away from the To—well, you know, _the_ HQs,” she lowered her voice by the end of her sentence. 

Pansy sighed and nodded. There was an unspoken rule in their office, but everyone knew it all too well. There was always a chance that Narcissa might be within earshot, so no one _ever_ pronounced Andromeda Tonks’ name if they wanted to stay on the team. Or alive—Pansy was sure Narcissa’s gaze could actually freeze someone to death. During the briefings, Senator Tonks had always been called _a leading Democratic candidate_. There were about four times total Pansy had heard Andromeda’s name escape someone’s lips in the past month, and that someone was Rodolphus. She was sure he got away with it only by being Narcissa’s best friend and having two daughters who Narcissa absolutely _adored_ , loved as if they were her own. 

“I think I would kill for a killer Caesar,” Pansy agreed with her, fishing out a few chips out of the bag and putting them into her mouth. The taste was sour and too strong, and she absolutely, truly hated it. She had always wondered how Daphne could enjoy something that disgusting. 

“Do you remember when was our last night out?” Daphne asked, forgetting about food for a minute and tapping on her lips. “Was it before we took the jobs or after?” 

“Of course it was before. I’m sure if we weren’t working at the same place, we wouldn’t be seeing each other with our schedules,” Pansy said, once again being so immensely grateful to Narcissa for bringing Daphne on the team. 

“God, we should go out soon.”

“Well, I hope we can squeeze something in our schedules _before_ the convention in August,” Pansy chuckled, knowing that there’s a little chance they would. They were okay with take-out for now, but that restaurant with— “Oh,” she gasped, remembering that _thing_ that had been somewhere in the back of her mind since yesterday’s afternoon. She was meaning to tell Daphne about it after she came back with their coffees instead of lunch, and then tell Narcissa, but as soon as she stepped back into the office, seven voice messages were waiting for her. She had been gone for _four_ minutes. 

“What?” Daphne asked, her interest clearly piqued. 

“You won’t believe who I saw today. Well, yesterday,” Pansy corrected herself, remembering the time, and then paused for an overly dramatic effect. “Hermione Granger.”

“ _What? ”_ Daphne choked. Really choked—she had a few chips in her mouth. Pansy rubbed her back gently and handed her a bottle of water with her free hand. 

Hermione Granger was a student at Stanford at the same time they all had been, Daphne and Draco and Pansy. They weren’t exactly _friends_ —tended to avoid each other, even. Which was pretty hard, since Daphne was studying Communications as well as Granger, and Pansy had always been in her best friend’s orbit. Pansy remembered that Hermione was sickeningly smart, awfully stubborn and determined, and she usually found these qualities attractive in women. Okay, _maybe_ , there had been a couple of weeks Pansy even found these qualities attractive in _Hermione_ , but then Granger just had to go and punch Draco in the face in their third year of undergrad for no apparent reason. There was also a matter of a few comments she got from Hermione. It happened after her grade for finals was corrected to a better one due to her parents’ meddling. Pansy’s result was the only one better than Granger’s, and the infuriating girl was the main reason for her guilt. Hermione was wicked smart, the teacher’s pet for literally every professor there was at Stanford, and as if it wasn’t enough, she was studying on a full scholarship for both her Bachelor _and_ Masters degrees. 

All four of them graduated and left California—Pansy went to New York, Draco and Daphne to Washington, and she wasn’t sure where Granger would go, but now, she knew. 

“So, that restaurant you were talking about? We both know it’s a political place. There are usually tons of people from our campaign or, you know, the other one,” she cringed inwardly at how that sounded. “Granger was there, but the most interesting thing? She wasn’t alone. She was with Evans and with Nymphadora. And with _her_.”

“ _No._ ” Daphne’s lips parted in disbelief, her blue eyes widening. “She was with the oppo team? I didn’t even know she was in Washington, of all places.”

“Apparently, she is. I looked her up—she works for Congresswoman McGonagall.”

Daphne breathed out a sigh of relief. 

Pansy chuckled. “Don’t be relieved just yet. I called her office, and they told me Granger quit. Got a better offer.”

“You don’t think…” her best friend trailed off, almost whispering by the end of the unfinished sentence. She leaned closer, studying Pansy’s face for any sign of _anything_ she wasn’t showing. 

“I don’t know what to think.” Pansy shrugged. “I mean, it’s possible. You remember how smart she was. But there are no vacant positions on their teams, aside from the campaign manager. Granger is too inexperienced to be one.”

Daphne fell silent, tapping on her lips and looking at the ceiling with utmost focus. Her hair almost glowed in the dim lighting, looking golden instead of a simple blonde shade it usually had, and Pansy found herself tucking a strand of it behind Daphne’s ear. Her best friend hadn’t even flinched or moved or blinked—she usually tended to lean into every touch, like a cat—and that meant she was deep, deep in thought. Pansy was content with just watching her in these moments, watching the way Daphne always seemed relaxed even while being pensive **.** It was unnerving, though, that her best friend seemed to be thinking of Hermione Granger. She let it slide nonetheless—Daphne loved riddles, and their ex-classmate reappearing after what felt like an eternity certainly was one. Reappearing with some really important people, in addition. 

It took about two full minutes before Daphne’s eyes widened even more, and she gasped with some sort of the realization, muttering a quiet, “Oh my _God_ ,” at the same time as Pansy sighed and said, “Anyway, I still think I should tell Narcissa, just in case.”

And as if saying her name summoned the older woman, they heard a distinct sound of heels clicking on the marble floors of the hallway. It got louder and louder until Narcissa appeared just a few feet from them. 

Pansy thought Narcissa Black was the only one who could look absolutely _stunning_ so late or early, or when the day was absolute hell. She tended to be dazzling everywhere she went, at any time of the day, regardless of her mood or the weather or any other thing that could possibly affect a simple human, such as Pansy and Daphne. And Pansy was sure that looking like _that_ should be illegal—she knew it was just a black sheath dress, probably Versace, but Narcissa was… being _Narcissa_ in it. Her long white-blonde hair was put together in a stylish French twist. Her makeup was wearing off after so many hours spent working, but if anything, it had made her look a bit softer. Her spine went rigid immediately as if she had heard Pansy’s train of thought. Narcissa was clutching her phone in her hand the way she always did—Pansy doubted she had ever seen the older woman without it in the past five months. A black trench coat was slung over her arm, accompanied by a black designer bag. If this wasn’t enough, her killer heels—how did anyone even wear them when they were _so_ high?—were black, too. 

All in all, Pansy was pretty sure black color on Narcissa Black should be made illegal. Maybe, if Bellatrix ended up being the next President, after all, Pansy could bring up writing it down in the Constitution or something like that. 

“Tell me what?” Narcissa drawled, eyeing her with a slight, almost non-existent curiosity. 

Daphne was the one to speak up, urgency evident in her voice for a reason Pansy couldn’t quite decipher. “Narcissa, there’s something—”

The woman’s gaze snapped to her, and God, Pansy didn’t like _that_ gaze. “Daphne.” And that voice, too, because she was sure it couldn’t be broken even by Superman or any other Marvel and DC superhero kids seems to love these days. “I believe I was abundantly clear when I said you could go home, just before I left the office with Rodolphus.” She came closer, leaning onto the desk in front of Daphne’s with one hand. “That was three hours ago.”

“Wait.” Pansy looked at her best friend, who was trying really hard to make herself disappear but to no avail. “You didn’t tell me that.” 

“We didn’t really have a lot of time for talking,” Daphne muttered. 

“We literally had a two-minute conversation about a _salad_ ,” Pansy deadpanned, not even blinking. 

“It’s a _good_ salad.”

“Yeah, but it’s certainly not better than you getting some sleep. Which you said you _craved_.”

“Well, you weren’t going to go home, so I didn’t see any sense in going there all by myself,” Daphne blurted out, looking as if she hadn’t even _meant_ to say that and immediately blushing. Pansy was taken aback by her words more than she was willing to admit, because, well, she did the exact same thing when Daphne worked late, too. 

Before she could muster any response, Narcissa drew their attention back to her. “Daphne. You can go now, and I _mean_ it.” It was said in a dangerously low voice, _the_ boss voice, and both she and Daphne shuddered. “Pansy, there are some things we need to discuss.” 

So whomever that meeting Narcissa and Rodolphus had was with, the other person certainly caved. It was no surprise, though. Narcissa would probably ask her to juggle with Bellatrix’s schedule to fit something new in, and God, it was going to be hard. But Pansy really hoped she wouldn’t be rearranging Narcissa’s schedule because finally talking with her parents after five months of radio-silence from her end sounded easier than _that_. 

Daphne tried to get a couple of words in but was silenced by Narcissa’s glare once again. In the end, she sighed, defeated, and quickly scrambled for her things, throwing them into her bag. Before retreating, though, the blonde leaned closer to Pansy and whispered a few words so quietly Pansy couldn’t even make them out. She frowned. Was there something about checking the—what? Before Pansy could ask her about it, Daphne hurried out of the headquarters, throwing her coat over her shoulders. 

As soon as Narcissa had heard the door closing behind Daphne, she pushed off the table and marched into her office, a silent command for Pansy to follow her. She stood up and fetched her notebook and two of her phones on the way to Narcissa’s. 

When Pansy entered the woman’s office, Narcissa was hunched over her table in the most elegant way possible. She was looking over a neat stack of documents, casting quick glances to her iMac screen from time to time. Pansy had been standing there for four minutes and thirty-seven seconds—yes, she had been counting—before Narcissa finally spoke up without even as much as looking at her. “Bellatrix will be appearing on _The Shine_.”

Pansy’s mouth fell open before she could even think about stopping herself. “She will?”

 _The Shine_ was a late-night talk show hosted by Gilderoy Lockhart. He had his charming smile, carefree attitude, too much arrogance, and golden locks going for him. Pansy believed his appearance was the only reason he was still liked by people. Personally, she and Daphne hated the man. The only time they had watched _The Shine_ was when they were extremely bored and needed some utter stupidity and foolishness to cheer them up. The show existed for various entertainment forms and discussed celebrity gossip, but somehow, it still had over four million viewers almost on every episode. 

Her surprise, though, was coming from the fact that Gilderoy Lockhart had never, ever discussed politics before. “But I thought Lockhart doesn’t talk about politics on his show?” she blurted out before she could stop herself, and well, _fuck_ . For a second there, she forgot that _you never asked Narcissa Black anything_. 

The older woman dragged her steely blue eyes to the place Pansy was currently rooted in. Narcissa simply gave her a signature look that told Pansy everything about how much of an idiot she was. “He does now. For us only.” 

Being on a receiving end of this look certainly wasn’t Pansy’s favorite thing, but she nodded nonetheless. “Okay.” She opened her notebook and clicked her pen, ready to write the next words down.

“It’s happening today. Eleven in the evening. Make it possible with her schedule, but keep it under wraps.” 

It was important to mention that sheer dumb luck—or maybe Pansy’s weak attempt at controlling her tongue movements and brain activity—was the only reason she hadn’t blurted out something entirely too blunt, such as, “But it’s Super Tuesday today,” or, “Will Bellatrix have any time to prepare at all?” or, the most eloquent, “What the actual _fuck?_ ”

So, instead of saying anything, Pansy just gaped, clutching her pen tighter, hundreds of thoughts running through her mind. _The Shine_ was airing at eleven in the evening. It meant the team would have to be at their headquarters by ten, which basically meant nine-thirty on Rodolphus-time, and _that_ meant nine o’clock on Narcissa-time. Bellatrix had dinner with President Riddle at ten-thirty, and there was a twenty-minute conference call with Congressman Malfoy scheduled for 9:45. They were supposed to have a live-stream on their Instagram account from 9:20 to 9:44—Bellatrix would have to give a small speech regarding the latest developments in the race for both parties and answer a few questions. They’d been prepping for a whole _week_ , and it wasn’t even going to last for twenty-five minutes. Now, Bellatrix would be going live without any week-long prep from a twelve-person team, on a talk show with over four million viewers. And on _Super Tuesday_ , of all fucking days. 

And _God_ , Pansy would have to call the goddamn _President’s_ office to tell him he was being canceled on. She doubted he would be particularly happy about this.

 _You never ask Narcissa anything,_ she reminded herself solemnly. _And, most importantly, you never question her._

Pansy had stopped questioning the older woman about her reasons a long time ago, when she was sixteen or seventeen—she couldn’t quite remember that little detail now. She _did_ remember Narcissa’s expression, wistful and somewhat far-away, but firm nonetheless when she had said, “There’s always a reason behind the reason, Pansy. It takes some… special people, if you wish, to see it, but it’s always there.”

Pansy knew for sure Narcissa had always been that special someone—the older woman had a sixth feeling telling her when something wasn’t quite right. She had a good way with words, was the best of the best, in Pansy’s opinion, and had always been able to submit others to her wishes with barely a glance at them. She knew there were people on their campaign who absolutely loathed Narcissa but wouldn’t even dare to _think_ of undermining her. They followed her nonetheless, choosing the path of minimal resistance, and it wasn’t exactly a surprise for Pansy—she couldn’t remember even one person who was foolish enough to get on Narcissa’s bad side. 

These were the reasons why Pansy didn’t question her this time, either. She just sighed, wrote everything down on her notebook, and closed it. She cleared her throat and said, “Eleven pm, _The Shine_ got it,” and then turned around to go and try to make it happen. 

She managed to make two and a half steps when she heard Narcissa’s voice.

“Pansy.” 

And just like that, Pansy was turning back and opening her notebook purely out of instinct. Narcissa had never said something as simple as _wait_ , no. She had always used your name, pronounced it with that distinctive undertone of command to stay in place, to stop, which could even sound as a half-request if you were kidding yourself hard enough. 

“Yes, Narcissa?”

The older woman didn’t reply. It was one of the tricks she used on Pansy quite often, which she loved and hated at the same time. It was created to get her brain to work, make her even better at her job, and make her learn every one of Narcissa’s gazes so Pansy could interpret everyone else’s as easily and quickly as Narcissa’s. Because everyone else had always seemed too _simple_ compared to her. At the moment, the look on her face was a mix of mock disappointment and slight curiosity. There was a twinkle in her eyes that made them a bit brighter in the dim lighting. Narcissa looked like she was daring Pansy to do something.

_Oh. Oh!_

“Oh,” she muttered for the third time, this one out loud, her lips parting a little. She closed her notebook and took a few small steps forward. The topic she wanted to talk to Narcissa about was as clear in her mind as ever. “Right. When I was out in the afternoon—four minutes, for coffee,” Pansy rushed to add, just in case, “I had seen something. Someone. With a bit of backstory.” She swallowed hard. “Do you remember our third year of undergrad at Stanford? You wanted to sue everyone that day.”

Narcissa tilted her head just a little, tapping with her fingertips on the dark wooden desk. “I can recall at least fourteen different days that match your description.” Well, _of course_ Narcissa could. “You will have to be more specific.”

“That day when this girl from one of our classes punched Draco in the face and, well, broke his nose,” Pansy clarified, watching the older woman’s eyes lit up in barely concealed rage at the reminder. When Narcissa found out about it during her daily FaceTime call with Draco, she had been _furious_ —in her own way, anyway. It was not the white-hot fury; it was the cold one that even Arctic ice would be jealous of. 

Narcissa had always been like that. For as long as Pansy could remember, her type of rage was quite different from the usual one. Sometimes it seemed like everyone else was fire, their gazes and carefully placed insults leaving scorching burns on every surface of the human body, reachable or not. Narcissa was ice—her glare was freezing; she had never, ever screamed, but her whispering and her quiet, steely voice making barely concealed threats scared people much more than any shouting ever could. 

Narcissa was ice, and the rest of the world was the fire. By all means of logic and physics, the fire destroyed ice in every possible outcome, but when it came to Narcissa, ice could freeze fire to death. 

“And?” Narcissa drawled, pulling Pansy out of her thoughts. There was a look of mild annoyance on her face—she hated the slow flow of information, hated being unaware more than anything else. 

“Right. So, that girl, Hermione Granger? I saw her yesterday. She was at _Romilda’s_ , this restaurant down the street, but she wasn’t alone. She was having lunch with Lily Evans, Nymphadora, and, uh, the leading Democratic candidate.” Narcissa’s gaze snapped to her face in a split second, and _good God_. Pansy swallowed. “I haven’t seen her since the day we graduated. Didn’t even know she was in Washington, to begin with. But I did some cursory digging and found out she works for Congresswoman McGonagall’s office.” At that, Narcissa raised her perfectly manicured eyebrow, as if asking something and telling her to go on at the same time. “Well, _worked_. When I called, they told me she quit after getting a better offer.”

Narcissa hummed under her breath, turning back to her and eyeing one of the bookcases behind her desk. She picked up a carafe of scotch from one of the shelves and poured herself half a glass. Pansy knew it wasn’t enough to even get her mildly tipsy, and she was pretty sure Narcissa drank the stuff because she just liked its bitter taste. And it certainly was on one of the shelves just because it made her office look, well, more like _hers._

Narcissa turned around, sipping from the glass just a bit as she rounded the table and leaned back onto it with her free hand. “And why, pray tell, that girl is any of my business?” she asked in that voice that told Pansy not to even think about giving any resemblance of the answer. “She’s what, twenty-three? Thoroughly inexperienced and young and _foolish_ , just like people of her age tend to be? With a few exceptions, of course.” Pansy was pretty sure these exceptions were Draco, Daphne, and Pansy herself. Narcissa was particularly wary of millennials who were quite literally everyone under the age of twenty-five for her.

She licked her lips nervously. “I—” 

“The leading Democratic candidate,” the older woman said, and Pansy could detect the hints of barely veiled _something_ in her voice, “makes her own choices. If she’s interested in people who will no doubt destroy her campaign, then I’m perfectly content with standing back and watching as it crumbles until there’s absolutely _nothing_ left of it.” 

Pansy sighed. “Yeah, I get that, but—”

Narcissa tsk-ed, a sound flowing from her lips gently, almost like a snake’s hiss. “There’s no place for _buts_ in this office, and you know it.” She took another sip of scotch, her lips twitching in a not-quite-smile. She looked up and fixed her eyes on Pansy, tapping on her glass with her index finger. “Oh, and Kallista has a drama club performance next Thursday. Clear my afternoon. That’s all.”

Taking her cue to leave, Pansy turned back and hurried out of the office, her mind running a thousand miles a minute. Narcissa’s schedule was twenty times more hectic than Bellatrix’s, she had meetings and calls and _meetings_ back to back every day. _Good Lord_. 

Suddenly canceling on the President seemed like a piece of cake. 

* * *

In Narcissa’s opinion, the day of the Super Tuesday started excruciatingly slow. 

She had left the headquarters at three in the morning to come back at seven, three cups of black coffee in. By the time she arrived, about forty people were scattered around the open office in their cubicles, doing practically nothing. She pursed her lips in obvious displeasure, and it seemed like that gesture was enough to catch everyone’s attention. Heads snapped up, and everyone looked at her, some of them even holding their breaths. As if she looked like she was going to bite their heads off. 

(She _did_ look like that, but just a little.)

“Can anyone here tell me how much percent of the delegates are offered on this day?” Narcissa asked, shifting her weight from her right leg to her left. The movement made her black pencil skirt ride up a bit, and she watched as a young man from marketing quite eloquently chocked on air. She felt a small, devilish smirk appearing on her face, but decided not to stop it. Somehow, this seemed to shatter everyone even more as one the volunteers, Clark, accidentally walked right into a wall after casting a quick glance at her. _An idiot._

She searched the open office for her only hope and remained pleased as her eyes landed on Pansy. The girl was sitting at her desk, typing furiously, her shiny black hair styled in a classic bob. One of the things Narcissa enjoyed most about her was Pansy’s ability to look impeccably even after what had to be a sleepless night. In black slacks and a white striped blouse which just had to be Daphne’s—wasn’t she wearing this one just the other week?—Pansy certainly didn’t make an impression of someone who had probably slept even less than Narcissa herself did. 

As if feeling Narcissa’s gaze on her, Pansy stopped typing, looked up and met her eyes. Narcissa quirked her eyebrow in a silent challenge. However, the girl just huffed and said, not missing a beat, “It’s thirty-four percent.” 

Narcissa’s lips twitched in a not-quite-smile. She refrained from saying anything and just nodded at Pansy, acknowledging the right answer, and focused back on everyone else. As soon as her eyes left the girl, she had heard a familiar godspeed typing. 

“We need 1,276 delegates to win the nomination. Right now, we have 82 of them. And before anyone even thinks about mentioning the following facts, I will do it for you.” Narcissa took a few measured steps until she stood right at the center of the open space, all gazes drawn to her as if she was a magnet. “Yes, we have the support of the current two-term President. Yes, our candidate is the current Vice-President. Yes, our candidate was born into one of the greatest political dynasties to ever exist in the United States. And yes, there are a lot of people who want to keep things the way they have been for the past eight years,” she listed, raising her voice a bit just to be heard in every little corner. “But the Crouches are a dynasty, too. Their platform is strong, and their candidate has a lot of financial and public support. That said, we do _not_ let Super Tuesday slide. We do _not_ take it easy just because we feel confident enough to do so. That would be foolish, and fools don’t win presidential elections.”

The silence was something Narcissa got accustomed to every time she made a small speech like this one, about the importance of hard work and not letting overconfidence and current stability get into your head. When she was done talking, people had always stayed silent, as if waiting for her permission to speak. 

Unfortunately, Bellatrix wasn’t one of those people; she had always been the one who wouldn’t keep her mouth shut and ultimately argued with everything Narcissa had said. It was exhausting, and at that point, Narcissa didn’t even know what the hell she was doing running this campaign if Bellatrix was so opposed to almost every one of her ideas. She wasn’t too pleased this morning, right after Narcissa had told her sister about her upcoming appearance on _The Shine._ Even though they had been talking on the phone, Narcissa was almost one hundred percent sure Bellatrix had actually thrown something into a wall. It took her nearly half an hour of calm explanations and reasoning and one call to the President before Bellatrix even considered the idea. Then, it took her two more hours to talk Bellatrix into it, talking her through this step by step, trying to convey the importance of gaining supporters from Lockhart’s audience. Talking Bellatrix into things seemed to be what she was doing instead of sleeping these days.

She swallowed, focusing back on the people around her. Half of them looked like they weren’t _breathing_ altogether. Only years of being raised by her mother stopped Narcissa from rolling her eyes. Instead, her eyes landed on Pansy, and before she could get even one word out, the brunette spoke up. 

“I rearranged everything for today. Congressman Malfoy wasn’t particularly happy, but he agreed to the conference call at half-past five. The President was very… cooperative,” Pansy said carefully, filtering out every word. Narcissa didn’t think it could be noticed if you weren’t looking for it, but she had always heard those second-long pauses. “He told me he would discuss the matter with the Vice-President privately. I also rescheduled the Instagram live stream to 7 pm, and there are three different events I need you to give me a go-to signal for.” 

Narcissa nodded. “My office, thirty minutes.” She turned her head a little to the left, her eyes settling on the organized mess of blonde locks peeking over the massive computer screen. “Daphne.”

The girl looked up, not missing a beat. “We’re trending on Twitter, third place at the top 5. People picked up the _VoteForBlack_ hashtag on Instagram, too, though they are not as active as the Twitter users. At that point, we have about seven thousand posts encouraging people to vote for our candidate in today’s primaries.” 

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. There was something slightly off about Daphne, about how she didn’t look in her eyes but rather slightly to the left, over her shoulder. Narcissa raised her eyebrow at the silent question, and the faintest blush crept up Daphne’s cheeks at being read so easily. “I’ll bring you a report in twenty-five.”

“In twenty,” Narcissa corrected her. Daphne simply nodded her agreement, returning to her work. Except for Pansy, she seemed to be the only one; when Narcissa looked up, everyone else looked slightly frozen in time, as if hypnotized.

She pursed her lips. “Get to _work_ , people,” she ordered, watching as everything came into motion. Just like that, in seven seconds, the office’s pleasant buzz was back. “Theodore, I need polling numbers for Texas, Utah, Arkansas, and Oklahoma. _Stat_. Blaise, get me my coffee with two extra shots. Hestia, get Congresswoman Carrow on the phone. I want her saying how _much_ she supports Bellatrix today, on every platform imaginable,” she rattled off, pausing only to cast a quick glance around the open space. The face she was searching for was nowhere in sight, so she landed her eyes on Millicent, narrowing them ever-so-slightly. “Rodolphus. _Where_ is he?”

“Um, he was supposed to come in twenty minutes ago?” Millicent half-asked, half-said. The girl shook her head absent-mindedly, as if telling herself to snap out of it, and promptly averted her gaze, focusing on the spot over Narcissa’s right shoulder. “He hadn’t called to warn you he’d be late, but I can—”

Narcissa raised her right hand, the one without her phone in it, cutting her off right away. “Tell him to find me as soon as he’s here. That’s all.” 

She turned around, her long hair fluttering behind her, and headed to her office. As soon as she was seated at her desk, she unlocked her phone, finding a text message from her best friend, sent about ten minutes ago.

**[Rodolphus, 6:58 am]**

Dropping the girls off at school today, the principal wants to talk. Apparently, Ophelia punched someone again and is getting her third detention this month. Will you be able to not murder anyone until I’m at HQs by 8:30?

Narcissa sighed, read the text one more time again, and furrowed her eyebrows. Ophelia wasn’t a particularly violent girl, no—she was just extremely protective of her younger sister. Kallista was bullied from time to time by older kids, and Narcissa couldn’t remember the time when Ophelia wouldn’t defend her, even if it could get a little violent. And that _so_ wasn’t the reason Narcissa insisted Ophelia take a self-defense class as soon as she turned fifteen, but apparently months of training were coming in handy. But it was only the second school day in March, and somehow, Ophelia managed to get not one, not two, but _three_ detentions already. That might be her new record. 

Narcissa added to her mental checklist _talk to Ophelia about violence not being an answer_ and _have a pleasant conversation with the bully’s parents_ as she typed out her answers. 

**[Narcissa, 7:11 am]**

Dinner tomorrow at 9? I’ll talk to Ophelia.

**[Narcissa, 7:11 am]**

Get me the parents’ numbers from Principal Haley. I’m thinking of having a delightful conversation with them.

**[Rodolphus, 7:12 am]**

Yes to the dinner, a _very_ strict no to the phone numbers. You can’t bully parents into stopping their kid from being a bully, Cissa. That way it’s literally double bullying. 

**[Rodolphus, 7:12 am]**

And I’m a little bit wary of your lack of answer about the whole murder thing, dear. Did Clark walk into a wall again as soon as he laid his eyes on you? What is it, the seventh time? 

Narcissa chuckled, putting her personal phone away. As if the universe could somehow sense it, her office phone started ringing barely three seconds later, and she sighed, a bit exasperated. For a minute she thought she could enjoy some peace and quiet of working on the documents before her morning briefings with Pansy, Daphne, and other members of the staff. She should have known better. 

She reached for the phone and held it to her left ear, already pulling her notebook closer with her free hand. “Narcissa Black speaking.”

“What the _hell_ , Narcissa?” the woman’s voice hissed, and she steeled herself for a conversation with Alecto Carrow that she knew wouldn’t be pleasant. “I just got a call from one of your lackeys literally _ordering_ me to show my support for Bellatrix. What does this mean?”

“Weren’t Hestia’s instructions clear enough? It means that you have to show your support for your party’s leading candidate, Alecto,” Narcissa deadpanned. 

“Quit playing games, Black. This wasn’t the deal.” 

“Oh, the _deal?_ ” she drawled in a dangerously low voice, marveling at how _willing_ Alecto was to get caught in every one of her traps. “Are you sure you want to talk about it, _Congresswoman_ Carrow? Because I’d rather discuss the fact that your Vice-President needs your support. Therefore, your _President_ needs your support. And that was exactly what you promised. Or have you forgotten, by any means?” 

Alecto chose to stay silent, fuming on the other end of the line with barely concealed rage.

“Let me remind you then, _Carrow_ .” The syllables of Alecto’s last name flowed sharply from her tongue, an obvious threat not-so-hidden behind the lack of her title. “You’re serving your fourth term in the Congress now. Would you like to give up everything you’ve gained within all these years? Because if you are, I can name ten people off the top of my head who are willing to do what you’re refusing, what you’ve signed up for as soon as President Riddle offered you _his_ support. As soon as he started cleaning up your _messes_.” A pause. One second, two, three. Narcissa smirked widely, making sure Alecto could hear it even without seeing her as she added, “Your precious brother would be the first one.”

She knew that was it, that Alecto’s pride or any other thing she was feeling wouldn’t let her argue anymore. She leaned back in her chair, tapping on her wooden desk, and waited for the inevitable. It was more than five minutes before Alecto spoke up, after what Narcissa assumed was carefully weighing all her options and trying to find a way out. (There wasn’t one.)

“What do you need me to do?” Alecto spat out, words barely above half-whisper and half-hiss.

Narcissa, who was waiting precisely for that, caught it, but there was a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her mother’s. _Always show your power to those who doubt it, Narcissa. Shoulders straight, chin up high, and don’t smile._ “What was that again, Alecto?” she asked, straightening up in her chair. 

“ _I said_ ,” Alecto’s voice was louder now, but still low and trembling as if she was making a lot of effort not to crush anything or anyone within her reach, “What do you need from me, Narcissa?”

“Posts on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook, and an update on your website, everything with the _VoteForBlack_ hashtag. Oh, and a couple of Instagram stories with pictures of you and Bellatrix back at Yale.” 

It would show the public that Bellatrix was human, Narcissa thought, even though she hadn’t always appeared to be one. That Alecto and Bellatrix were friends, _are_ friends, that the Vice-President had a life outside of work. No one needed to know Alecto hadn’t spoken to Bellatrix in years now, except for various political reasons they needed to interact for. Narcissa would make sure absolutely no one found out about that.

In Narcissa’s mind, making a candidate for the presidential campaign was akin to working on a puzzle. Every person was jagged pieces and sharp edges, which needed nurturing to be put together into the most beneficial picture possible. It was a craft, a work of art, creating a whole different person to present them to the public’s critical eye. She plucked flowers with their roots and planted new ones, the ones which were simply _more_ . More attractive, more interesting, more gratifying, more _everything_. 

Narcissa wasn’t blind, and no one would call her foolish, either; she knew the person Riddle created wasn’t the most likable one. This Bellatrix was harsh and aggressive, not like the image of America’s sweetheart everyone had seen in Andromeda, and that’s why the major part of this political campaign included mending Bellatrix’s broken pieces into something approachable. Bellatrix was a puzzle in need of solving, and Narcissa would switch different fragments of her until she found the right ones. They would fit together perfectly, crafting the image of someone people would vote for. In the end, it was her job—to get her candidate elected, a spelled out _whatever it takes, Narcissa_ by President’s voice hanging over her head like a guillotine.

“My team and I will do all of this today,” Alecto said, the fight gone from her voice as if it had never even been there in the first place. She sounded resigned now. “But, Narcissa?”

“What?”

Alecto stayed silent for quite some time. After the third minute without even one word from the other woman, Narcissa sighed, not even trying to convey her impatience. “My time is very limited, Alecto. That phone call is already seven minutes longer than it was supposed to be.” 

“You know I don’t support Bella anymore,” Alecto said, the old nickname slipping out on its own. Narcissa flinched; these words were the undertone of every conversation they had had for the past four years, but she couldn’t remember Alecto actually admitting it out loud. “I don’t support her policies, _Riddle’s_ policies. Having him in the White House for eight years was more than enough, don’t you think so?” 

_Don’t you think so?_

The words were ringing in Narcissa’s years, said with something soft, something vaguely resembling _before_. _Don’t you think so?_ and Alecto going shopping with her and Bella for Narcissa’s prom dress; _don’t you think so?_ and Alecto helping her to get ready for her finals; _don’t you think so?_ and a drunken, slurred _I think I’m in love with your sister_.

“You know what happens next, Narcissa.” The voice was harsher now, stronger, and a small part of Narcissa was back to her old room, Alecto telling her not to do anything stupid. _Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Cissa_ , she would say. “If Bellatrix is elected, she’s in the Oval for the next eight years. _Eight years_. It was enough for Riddle to groom his loyal lieutenant, make her into a person I don’t even recognize anymore, _you_ don’t recognize anymore. Eight years, Narcissa,” she repeated, and Narcissa felt herself grasping the phone tighter as if desperately trying to break it in half. “It will be enough for Bellatrix to groom someone, someone close to her, someone she trusts, someone who will be just following her lead. A _puppet_. And you know who’s the closest to her?”

_I am. Rodolphus is._

“You do because _you_ are, Rodolphus is,” Alecto kept on, pushing and pushing and _pushing_. “And even if it’s not you, she’ll find someone. Therefore, it’s eight years for Bellatrix and eight years for her puppet. But who says they’re going to stop on that? Who says they won’t want more? Can you promise me that, Narcissa? Can you promise me that Bellatrix will be ready to give up her power once and for all in eight years?” Alecto asked, an air of confidence in her tone telling Narcissa she wouldn’t be able even if she wanted to. (Not even _if—e_ ven _though_. She wanted to. She wanted to. She _wanted to_.)

(Did she?)

“You can’t, because you know her too well for that. Bellatrix Black, the leader of the Free World.” Alecto chuckled, tone mocking, but Narcissa could hear something behind it, something _bigger_. “And how long will it be before the world _stops_ being free? How long will it be before it’s not a democracy but totalitarianism?” 

There was a pause, and Narcissa waited. She knew it would be a final blow, she knew it would be a checkmate; she knew it would be Alecto’s win. She knew and did nothing to stop it. Instead, Narcissa just waited and waited until it came over her, the other woman’s voice soft, almost pleading. 

“I think it’s going to be the world where Bellatrix will carry on Riddle’s legacy, and someone will carry on hers. It won’t be _free_ , and I don't want my children to live in a world like this one.” She breathed in, Alecto breathed out. Narcissa had never been a fan of sports metaphors, but right now, it felt like they were in a boxing ring, and she was willingly giving Alecto everything the woman needed for the final strike. “The question is, do you want yours?” 

Narcissa swallowed hard, not saying anything, but it seemed like Alecto wasn’t expecting her to. Instead, the other woman let out an exasperated breath on the other end of the line and said, “Think about it, Narcissa. Before it’s too late.”

It took her three heartbeats to respond. _Thump._ Draco. _Thump._ Ophelia. _Thump_. Kallista. 

“Vice-President Black is immensely grateful for your continuous support, Congresswoman Carrow,” she said, and her voice didn’t sound like hers at all. She swallowed, took in a deep breath, and added, “The Black campaign will be in touch. That’s all.” 

As soon as the line went dead, Narcissa felt like she could breathe for the first time in minutes. She relaxed her grip on the phone and put it back on its place, letting out a shaky breath, thousands of thoughts and words and voices swirling in her mind. It was Riddle’s _whatever it takes, Narcissa_ and Bellatrix’s _Cissy, I believe you can get me to the Oval._ It was a _don’t you think so?_ and _do you want yours?_ in Alecto’s soft voice from _before_. 

It was the lightest knock on the door of her office and Theodore peeking in with a stack of papers with polling numbers she asked more than fifteen minutes ago in his hand. That was what she was choosing to focus on, the present, not on the past _(“a person_ ** _you_ **_don’t recognize anymore”)_ or the future _(“it won’t be_ ** _free_** _”)._

“Stat means _immediately_ , Mr. Nott,” Narcissa drawled, reaching out with her hand in a clear display of impatience. 

Theodore hurried into the room, thrusting the papers in her hand. “Sorry, Ms. Black, it’s just that the printer was—”

She tilted her head to the left, eying him disapprovingly. “Don’t we have twenty of them?” 

“Um.” He swallowed, taking a small step black. “We do?” 

Narcissa let out an exasperated sigh. “Just go.” She flicked her wrist in her door’s general direction, not even looking up from the papers in her left hand. “Call Daphne and Pansy in here, _stat_. That’s all.” 

The day wasn’t going excruciatingly slow anymore. As soon as Pansy and Daphne entered her office, it became borderline hectic, akin to a whirlwind, somewhat beautiful in its chaos. 

“Someone banned the _VoteForBlack_ hashtag on twitter, it’s not visible anymore. When you search it, there are no tweets, absolutely _nothing_ ,” Daphne blurted out as soon as she stepped her foot in Narcissa’s voice, eyes frantic, but her overall exterior still collected, calm. There were three or maybe even four black folders in her hands, a few documents peeking out, and Narcissa decided to overlook the fact that everything was shaking ever-so-slightly.

Pansy was standing just behind Daphne, her hand hovering over the blonde’s lower back. Narcissa felt Pansy’s eyes on her immediately and looked at the girl, arching her eyebrow in a silent question, which was a polite version of, _“And why are you staring at me, darling?”_

Pansy just tilted her head to the left side and kept watching her, as if her agenda for today included a staring contest with her boss. It was quiet in the office behind the closed door, except for Daphne’s breathing; it was ragged just a bit, but enough for Narcissa to notice. And she knew the look on Pansy’s face, too, the painstakingly obvious string of _please, don’t be too hard on her._ There was a hard edge to it, though. It would always appear when some social media crisis unfolded, and it wasn’t technically Daphne’s fault at all, but the girl still was scared out of her mind that maybe, just maybe, it was. And that fire in Pansy’s brown eyes—it was not a request, no, it was _more_ . It always made Narcissa _feel_ something, how protective Pansy could be over Daphne without even realizing it. 

(It wasn’t the time nor the place, but Narcissa still caught herself thinking that it was indeed Daphne’s white striped blouse Pansy was wearing, and at that point, it had to be the tenth time it had happened in the past month.)

“It was either the Crouch team or the Democrats. Nothing we can do to change that. But this setback was expected to occur, Daphne,” Narcissa assured her, meeting her worried blue eyes. Daphne seemed to breathe out of relief as soon as she registered the words. “There’s no going back, only forward. What are you going to do now?”

Daphne’s eyes shot wide open, and Narcissa let out a small huff. _Honestly_ , did people really expect her to tell everyone what to do? Give her a bit more credit. Making people _think_ of what they were going to do was a much more effective tactic in the long run. 

“We can switch to another platform. Instagram. The hashtag wasn’t banned.”

Narcissa nodded, one corner of her mouth quirking up. “Give me the reports and go do just that.” 

Daphne strode towards Narcissa’s desk and put the four folders on its edge, gave her a small smile, and then headed towards the door. She lingered just a bit, casting a quick glance at Pansy, and left only after noticing a soft smile tugging Pansy’s lips in some sort of reassurance. As soon as the door closed behind the girl, Narcissa’s eyes landed on Pansy. The brunette was silent, watching the office exit with some kind of _longing_ , and Narcissa couldn’t help but smirk at that. That got Pansy’s attention almost immediately. 

“The events. Right,” Pansy muttered under her breath, coming closer and plopping down on a chair in front of Narcissa’s desk. She opened her notebook in her lap but barely looked at it as she began to speak. “So, the most important one. It’s a big fundraiser-slash-gala. Bathilda Bagshot announced the date, March 21.”

Narcissa tapped on her table with her pen and sighed, looking away. 

Bathilda Bagshot was an 80-year-old woman. She was smart and educated and had a sixth feeling when it came to politics. She was Mayor Bagshot at first, in the small town in Maine, then Senator Bagshot for Maine, and then Congresswoman Bagshot for eight terms before she finally retired. Bathilda hadn’t stepped back from politics, of course; she started writing books, a history of US presidential elections first and then her autobiography. She talked about what it was like in the early 1970s, being the woman so passionate about politics. Bathilda was quick-witted and funny and was one of the people Narcissa actually _liked_ in Washington. 

Her political image was one of the strongest ones Narcissa had ever encountered. At that point, she was somewhat a legend, and her support meant almost as much as the President’s itself. The woman not only was wicked rich, but she was also highly respected and well-liked by most of the other politicians in Washington. She started hosting her galas in the early 2000s during presidential elections, usually the primaries, right after Super Tuesday, and in the middle of general elections, in-between debates. Everyone who was _anyone_ was invited. At the end of the gala, Bathilda Bagshot had always announced who she would support next. 

She could choose anyone she liked, and that meant the choice was between _both_ Republicans and Democrats. The candidates always attended the gala with their team in tow; the campaign manager, the communications director, and the press secretary. Sometimes, there were a few people from scheduling and social media departments.

And _that_ meant she would have to deal with _both_ of her sisters. Being in one room. It would be a huge one, of course, but Narcissa highly doubted it would matter at all. Pansy knew that, too; when Narcissa looked back at her, the girl was watching her closely, something akin to worry in her brown eyes. 

“You don’t even need a go-to signal for that, and you know it,” she said, putting her pen away. She had a hunch she would start fidgeting with it if she didn’t, and that would be unacceptable. Pansy didn’t say anything, just nodded and smiled, and Narcissa found herself sighing once again. “RSVP yes. I’ll need Rodolphus, you, and Daphne with me.” 

Pansy nodded, writing it down. “Will Draco be attending, too?”

It was an unspoken _Congressman Malfoy will be there, are you okay?_ Narcissa just gave Pansy one of her signature _none of your business_ looks—a slightly softer version of it, of course. 

“That’s up to him, so you can ask him yourself. He had always enjoyed spending time with Bathilda, though.” There was a shadow of a smile on her face then, as she remembered how amused the older woman used to be by a 5-year-old Draco. “I want the briefing with our styling team tomorrow. We need to look like a united front on that gala. Bathilda loves a good entrance.”

“Okay, I’ll arrange everything. Any color you want me to tell them to focus on?” 

Narcissa couldn’t help but smirked just a bit, the playful glint appearing in her blue eyes for a couple of seconds. “Black, of course.” She watched with satisfaction as Pansy half-chuckled and half-groaned at that, not even having to write it down. “Tell them they can throw in some Slytherin green, and maybe some silver or platinum jewelry to match it.” 

Pansy scribbled in her notebook with a godspeed.

“I also want Bellatrix knowing absolutely _everyone_ who will be there,” Narcissa kept on. “It’s important she does, it’ll help her connect with the donors, and we need a few new ones. So, find a volunteer who isn’t… scared of her,” Narcissa chose to ignore Pansy’s snicker and a whispered _there isn’t one_ , “and have them prepare her.” 

“Got it.”

“Schedule me a dinner with Bathilda. Get in touch with her assistant, everything on her terms.” That wasn’t a thing Narcissa did often; she usually preferred everything to be on _her_ terms. But even she was willing to make a tiny exception for Bathilda Bagshot. Actually, pretty much anyone with a brain had been doing that for the past twenty years. “I think it’s important we have a chat before the gala.” 

“Noted.” 

“Bellatrix needs to meet up with Senator Yaxley this week. Bathilda likes him, and it would bring some good press, so arrange—”

Pansy seemed unbothered by the fact that Narcissa didn’t finish speaking as she rattled out, “He’s hosting a dinner this weekend. Vice-President Black was invited personally by him, and one of his schedulers called me while you were talking to Congresswoman Carrow. Everything’s arranged, and the Vice-President will also meet with Senator Yaxley two days before the gathering in his residence.”

The corners of Narcissa’s lips twitched slightly as she proceeded to watch Pansy more closely. Since the girl started working for the campaign, there was a change visible in her every word, every gesture. Before that, Pansy was working for Narcissa as her personal assistant, but now not only was she working for her, she was mainly just working _with_ her. Narcissa could recall the first time Pansy interrupted her mid-sentence, a couple of months ago. It took the brunette about twenty seconds to realize it, and she wouldn’t stop apologizing for the next three of four minutes despite Narcissa’s reassurances of everything being fine. (It wasn’t fine, though, at least partly. Narcissa _hated_ being interrupted.)

She chuckled at the memory. It was barely noticeable, but it still seemed to catch Pansy off-guard; the girl set her eyes firmly on her, a little bit wide, a whirlwind of emotions in them just like always. 

“Brazen is a good color for you, Pansy, but please, don’t make a habit of interrupting me in the future,” Narcissa said. She could see the brunette’s train of thought coming to a stop. 

As soon as the girl caught up with what she said before, the faintest blush crept up her cheeks. “Sorry, won’t happen again.” She nodded briefly and smiled, the polite work-smile with a touch of something personal Narcissa learned to recognize in every grin sent her way when they were at the campaign headquarters. 

Narcissa suppressed a smile and looked out of the window, watching the sun trying to get into her office through the half-closed curtains. “What are two other events you wanted to brief me on?” she asked calmly. 

Pansy took in a deep breath, and that told Narcissa everything she needed to know even before the girl opened her mouth to speak. Of course, Lucius’ annual gathering in the middle of March was coming up. 

“ _No._ ”

“No for you or no for Bellatrix? Or both?” Pansy asked boldly. 

“Of course for _me_. _Just_ for me. Congressman Malfoy is going to be Bellatrix’s future Vice-President. He’s a respected member of the Congress and was approved by President Riddle personally. It’s a great honor to have him working with us to make this country better in the nearest future.” Narcissa cringed inwardly at how overly rehearsed this sounded even to her own ears. Pansy hadn’t even tried to hide the way her eyebrows shot up at the words. 

“Yeah, right,” Pansy muttered under her breath. Before Narcissa could get a word in, she added hastily, voice a bit high-pitched, “Moving on. There’s this gathering in the Children’s National Medical Center, for the girls from age 10 to 18 who are interested in politics, and—”

“Yes,” Narcissa answered. She didn’t really need to hear the rest. It was the best free press for their candidate they could ever ask for, and an excellent opportunity for young girls to learn about politics from its best players. “When?”

“The end of the month. They don’t have a date set yet, and I know you don’t usually like offers without clear details of _what, when and where_ , but—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Narcissa interrupted her calmly. “Bellatrix is going. Put it in the draft of her end-of-the-month schedule and stay in touch with CNMC’s people. Tell me the exact date the second you get it.” 

“Of course. Will there be something else, Narcissa?” 

She tapped on her desk with her fingertips, her nails making this clicking sound after connecting with the wooden surface. From what she could tell, there was nothing urgent, and even if there was, she would need Rodolphus’ assistance with the task she had in mind, aka preparing Bellatrix for Gilderoy Lockhart’s late-night talk show. For some unfathomable reason, Rodolphus was one of the not too many people Bellatrix actually seemed to like. Today, Narcissa needed all the help she could get to make her sister behave. 

“No. Just find out where the _hell_ is my coffee.” She sighed. There was no malice behind the hissed words, just a hint of exasperation mixed with exhaustion that Pansy would be able to recognize easily, no matter how much Narcissa wanted to hide it from her at times. She looked over at Pansy, noticing the slightest concern in her expression, and mastered a half-smile. “That’s all.”

Pansy nodded, stood up and left, her phone and notebook in her hands as she closed the door behind her. 

Narcissa looked at her wristwatch somewhat impatiently. She still had about half an hour left before Rodolphus’ arrival. The sigh she let out next was filled with utter desperation and pain as she remembered something she would absolutely _have_ to do. She moved her chair closer to her desk and typed _gilderoy lockhart the shine_ in the YouTube search bar. 

This was going to be torture. 


	3. in the golden light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodolphus' and Bellatrix's first appearance. Their interactions with Narcissa. Oh, and Narcissa meets Hermione… kinda. In a way. 
> 
> Enjoy! And sorry it's so small. Lmao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **for helena <3**

**MARCH 3**

_Super Tuesday_

For the ninth time in her life, Narcissa was ready to admit she had been awfully wrong. Because when it came to _The Shine_ , torture didn’t cover it in the slightest. Having all your limbs cut off in the most gruesome way seemed twenty times more merciful than enduring sixty minutes of Gilderoy Lockhart’s presence on screen. 

The man’s smile was too practiced to be a real one, his hair was shining unnaturally and _so_ blond in the worst way possible—nothing like Daphne’s golden blonde or Marlene’s dirty blonde back in the day. He made too many grand gestures with his hands, acted so overly excited and dramatic throughout the episode that drama tv shows teenagers loved so much had _nothing_ on him. He finished every third sentence with an _I love you, America!_ and a wave of his hand. For some unfathomable reason, that would leave the audience _aww-ing_ and gasping in some sort of— _what_ , exactly? Narcissa couldn’t even find a suitable word, and she was fluent in four languages. (One of the perks of being raised by the horrendous Druella Black.) 

In Narcissa’s opinion, _The Shine_ itself wasn’t a show; its host was. He looked like one of the meticulously crafted images Narcissa had seen in the political field so often over the years. There was a distinct difference, though. In politics, the image mattered, but the politician’s ideas, their platform was as much important. Gilderoy Lockhart was a gold-wrapped dummy, a shiny thing created by someone up high to draw in the viewers with his nauseating smile and picture-perfectness. 

And by some cruel twist of fate, that man was exactly what Narcissa needed to make Bellatrix seem more likable, more _humane_. It was scientifically proved that every third person in the USA watched _The Shine_ at least once. Narcissa knew Pansy and Daphne did, even if just for the stupidity of it, as well as Ophelia and Kallista. So, even people who _despised_ it still watched it for some reason, and that was something the network was undoubtedly happy about. Now, Narcissa was going to use this hype surrounding Gilderoy Lockhart to her own advantage. 

She was going through her plan concerning Bellatrix’s appearance on the show for the fourth time when her door burst open, the sound accompanied by the slightest _huff_. Narcissa didn’t even need to look away from the window to know it was Rodolphus; no other person would dare to barge into her office in that way. 

“I got ambushed by the other parents because apparently, they teamed up with Principal Hayley,” Rodolphus explained his half-hour’s delay as he closed the door behind him. He ruffled his dark hair in a motion that resembled a teenage version of him and moved closer to her desk, unceremoniously dropping on one of the chairs and letting out a long exhale. 

He met Narcissa’s eyes, and she could tell he was exhausted by his latest interaction at the girls’ private school just by the slump of his shoulders. The slightest irritation at the parents of a student who bullied Kallista and whom Ophelia punched was still lurking behind his dark blue eyes, but it was fading with every second he spent carefully studying Narcissa’s features. He always did that whenever they met each other after being apart for a few hours, looking for signs of something going wrong during his absence. Narcissa was becoming good at fooling him, though, and leaving him wondering more and more each day. 

“So, what’s the verdict?” she asked him calmly. 

“Presidential election has _nothing_ on high school, believe me. There’s just so much drama, Cissa.” He sighed wistfully. “The boy Ophelia punched? His name is _Hamlet_ , and it turns out he’s been flirting with her for the past year and decided to bully Kallista to get her attention. That’s just a whole new level of Shakespearean drama, don’t you think?”

“I hope it doesn’t end like one,” Narcissa answered dryly. Rodolphus just rolled his eyes, drawing a small smile out of her in an instant. “Do I need to interfere?” She tilted her head and looked at him pensively, her smile turning into a dangerous smirk. 

“God, Narcissa, _no_ ,” Rodolphus blurted out in one breath. “You can be scary when you want, you _are_ right now, and we don’t want to scar the boy and his parents for life. So, no, there’s no way in hell you’re interfering.” 

Her lips parted in fake surprise. “Scary? _Me?_ ” Narcissa brought her right hand to her chest in a feigned gesture of innocence and tried to look as offended as possible. “I’ve never been _scary_ in my entire life, Rodolphus. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Her best friend gape at her audacity, making her smirk a bit wider, but the feeling of her victory didn’t last long. 

“Do I need to remind you of this one time when—”

“Oh no, not _again_ ,” she muttered, closing her eyes and letting out a long, exasperated sight. It’s been _decades_ , and this story still was one of Rodolphus’ favorite memories of her. He had told it so many times even Ophelia and Kallista knew it by heart and would always chime in whenever their father decided to retell it again. She managed a whole week without hearing it, and that so far was a new record. But apparently, good things never lasted. 

Rodolphus completely ignored an unladylike groan she let out next; his smile just grew wider, a clear satisfaction evident in his features as he kept on. “—when you were what, 22? There was this court hearing out of town, and Slughorn chose us. Of course, you won the case, but that’s not the main point, is it?”

“I’ll buy both of your daughters the cars of their choosing if you shut up,” Narcissa tried, although she was unable to keep herself from smiling. “God, I’m ready to buy _you_ a car if you last without retelling this story for more than a week.”

“Thank you, dear, but I already have a great car, and my daughters are not going to drive until I’m sure Ophelia won’t run her car through the school’s wall. Or, in the light of the recent events, won’t run Hamlet over with her car.” 

Narcissa was a bit exasperated, but she couldn’t help but snicker at that. Rodolphus’ sense of humor was _something_ , especially when it came to his daughters. Or her, for that matter. 

“Anyway, you came out of the courtroom and was leaving the building—”

Narcissa’s gaze snapped to the door a mere second after she heard a barely audible creak, praying it was Millicent, or Theodore, or Blaise with something she would have to do right now. Of course, it was Pansy with Daphne trailing just behind her. She stifled a groan at the way Rodolphus’ face lit up like a Christmas tree at seeing them and let out a long sigh instead. 

“Pansy, Daphne!” he greeted them, smiling widely. “Do you have something urgent?”

“Um, no?” Daphne frowned, casting a quick glance at Narcissa over Pansy’s shoulder. “We can come back in ten if you—”

“Oh, no! Please, stay, you _must_ hear that! It’s really important.” Rodolphus nodded eagerly as if confirming his own words, and looked over his shoulder at Narcissa and winked at her before turning back to the girls. 

Pansy and Daphne exchanged curious glances but still came in, to Narcissa’s utter delight, and closed the door behind them. They reached her desk in a few short seconds. Daphne sat down on the only vacant place while Pansy stood over her, her hands on the chair’s back, her fingers touching Daphne’s golden hair with every breath the girl made. Narcissa looked at them quizzically, but her attention was snapped back to her best friend in less than a minute. He was looking at the girls, a teasing smirk in place that was never a good sign. 

“So, Pansy, Daphne, have you ever heard that story—” 

(They did. At least seven times. They could retell it with every detail imaginable too, almost as well as Ophelia and Kallista, and had done that at New Year’s dinner. _Twice._ ) 

Pansy chuckled and raised her eyebrows, throwing a meaningful glance at Narcissa. “Is he at it again? The same story?” 

Narcissa sighed, trying to seem mildly bored. “Unfortunately, yes.” 

Daphne had her eyes set on Rodolphus, though, as if sensing there was something behind Rodolphus’ sudden desire to recount _the_ story once again. “What was the trigger?”

“Narcissa here told me she had never been _scary_ in her entire life.” He was wearing an incredibly smug expression, and Narcissa knew it was another bad sign, at least for her.

Because Pansy and Daphne laughed, their hands over their mouths in a weak attempt to cover it and their heads falling back, eyes closed. Narcissa sighed and shook her head absent-mindedly, a ghost of a smile on her face.

“Okay, that’s a valid reason for retelling. I’m all ears,” Pansy said as soon as she had stopped laughing. 

“Me too,” Daphne chimed in, her voice a bit breathless. 

Rodolphus looked at her expectantly, waiting for the seal of approval, and she gave in. It was the one thing she had always let him have. The memory brought the smile to her face too. “You have five minutes,” she told them all. “After that, we are getting back to _work_ , because that’s what we came here to do. Understood?”

“Of course, boss.” Rodolphus nodded. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin up in a mocking gesture. Narcissa let out a huff at that. “So, Pansy, Daphne, I was just saying how Narcissa, Slughorn, and I had this hearing out of town. She was the first to come out of the courtroom. She passed a stationary guard and threw him a glance, and everything was perfectly fine, right? Well, when she was outside, and Slughorn and I had stopped next to the same guard to talk the case over, he came up to us and asked if Slughorn was Narcissa’s boss. After saying that yes, he was, the guard informed him Narcissa seemed _dangerous_ ,” he half-whispered the last part, barely holding back from laughing out loud. “That she, and I quote, had an _evil glint_ in her eyes. That she looked like she could straight-up murder someone.” 

Daphne couldn’t help but burst out laughing once again, and Pansy decided to join her. For her part, Narcissa tried not to smile at the memory, set on glaring daggers at Rodolphus, who seemed not to notice her stare at all. 

“A friendly reminder, girls,” Rodolphus kept on. “Narcissa wasn’t even twenty-five back then, and she sure wasn’t as immersed in politics as she is now. Still, she looked scary, _deadly_ scary. In a ‘a guard was concerned for people’s safety’ kind of way.” 

Pansy and Daphne both shook their heads and smiled widely as their laughter died out, and they both turned to look at Narcissa. She refrained from rolling her eyes at all of them, but her lips twitched in a small smile. “I will never be able to understand why you enjoy recounting this story to people who have already heard it many, many times.”

“Well, maybe one day I’ll tell it to someone who hasn’t heard it yet, and I’m sure they would enjoy it as much as we do. It’s speaking _volumes_ of you, Cissa.” 

Narcissa’s next smile was fleeting and disappeared in seconds, a look of sheer determination in her features back in place. Pansy and Daphne sighed, seeing the change, and straightened their shoulders a bit purely out of instinct. The blonde reached for the binder she had in her lap and handed it over to Narcissa before she could even form a question.

“Congresswoman Carrow’s team began posting on her social media accounts. So far, so good. We’re getting a lot of mentions and followers after the Instagram post—Congresswoman chose a picture with Vice-President from their time together at Yale,” Daphne told her, and Narcissa couldn’t help but perk up at that. The feeling was rapid, though; her conversation with Alecto crawled back into her mind. “It’s all in the binder. Statistics, important verified followers we got, and pretty much everything else.”

She looked through it and was left satisfied; at seeing the briefest look of approval on the older woman’s face, Daphne let out a tiny sigh of relief and sagged in the chair just a bit. 

Narcissa cast a quick glance at Pansy and raised one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows in a silent question. The brunette’s confident nod told her that everything she requested was done, and Narcissa tilted her head slightly in a silent _good job_.

“Pansy, Daphne, that’s all.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, she and Rodolphus sprang into action. There was a look shared between them. They both agreed they would discuss the entire Ophelia and Hamlet situation—come to think of it, it sounded pretty funny—later in the day, when Super Tuesday was finally over. 

The rest of the day was going well. Actually, honest to God _great_. It was making Narcissa suspicious, in a way. A part of her started waiting for the other shoe to drop any moment, but everything ran smoothly, so sometime between lunch—which was coffee—and dinner—which was coffee too—she decided to breathe out and let this nagging feeling in the back of her mind go. 

A few calls helped them lift the ban off of the _VoteForBlack_ hashtag on Twitter, but the hits to that social platform helped them raise their Instagram outreach. Alecto’s posts on social media and on her official website got them a few articles in political blogs and a few publications. The reporters made all the right comments about Bellatrix’s education, devotion to her goal, and how the political world hardened her just a bit over the years, but she still stayed the same person Alecto Carrow described her to be in the past. It was funny for Narcissa to read this lie she partly crafted herself; it left a bittersweet taste somewhere in the pit of her stomach that made her close all the Google tabs with the articles she had opened. Narcissa knew better than anyone else there was not much of Bellatrix from _before_ left. She understood that the person Bellatrix was now was as carefully crafted by Riddle as was the lie she was coming up with every day to get her older sister elected. (To get _Bellatrix_ elected, she reminded herself. Not just her older sister. _Bellatrix_.)

Bellatrix seemed to be on her best behavior throughout the entire day. They went out to Georgetown University just before the polls in Vermont closed. It was a chance for her to speak to the voters, and it went so amazingly great the nagging feeling in the back of Narcissa’s mind came back for at least half an hour. Bellatrix’s smiles and laughter didn’t seem forced even to Narcissa, which was something to think about. She watched her older sister like a hawk, a barely-there smile plastered on her face as Bellatrix shook hands and chatted away in her a little bit chaotic but still somewhat calm voice. 

When they came back to the headquarters, Bellatrix wasn’t as much of a nuisance as Narcissa expected her to be when it came to preparing for her appearance on Lockhart’s talk show either. In fact, her older sister was extremely cooperative and paid lots of attention to everything said and explained to her. She agreed to a softer makeup style than her usual one without arguing and was extremely patient while discussing talking points for _The Shine_ with Rodolphus, even though it was one of the tasks she hated with her whole being. 

It was half-past eight in the evening when Narcissa stumbled upon the reason for Bellatrix’s strange behavior. The makeup team just finished their work and left the headquarters, leaving her older sister alone in the room, fully prepared not only to appear on Gilderoy Lockhart’s show but to take on the world. Narcissa came up from behind, and Bellatrix hadn’t even noticed her arrival—she was so immersed in something on her phone screen. Narcissa managed only a quick glance, but the picture Alecto posted on her Instagram account was easily recognizable. It was the way Bellatrix was zooming in and out on their faces every few seconds. 

She cleared her throat to draw her older sister’s attention, and when Bellatrix turned around, she looked positively startled, almost dropping her phone on the floor. It took her a second to collect herself, and when Narcissa met her sister’s eyes again, there was no _something_ behind them, just the same sheer determination the blonde got used to seeing there a long time ago. 

“What, Cissy?” Bellatrix asked with a feigned annoyance, instinctively clutching her phone in her hands and bringing it closer to her stomach. She was searching her face for clues, Narcissa knew that, so she schooled her expression into something cold and distanced and unreadable, the same expression her older sister was wearing herself. 

“The team is ready. Rodolphus will be with you every step of the way. You all are leaving in ten,” she said.

“Rodolphus?” Bellatrix’s mask slipped for a split second as she raised her eyebrows questioningly, something suspiciously similar to worry gracing her features. “Not you?”

“Something came up. It’s Lucius. He wants to talk about your presence on his annual March gathering. Said he wouldn’t speak with anyone else but me, so I have to stay back at the headquarters until we finish,” Narcissa explained calmly, carefully hiding her exasperation at her ex-husband’s antics.

“Fine.” Bellatrix didn’t seem pleased by the revelation at all. She let it slide nonetheless, a part of her unusual mood still lingering deep inside. 

Narcissa took a tentative step forward, reaching out and tentatively fixing her older sister’s necklace that got a bit tangled up in her hair. Bellatrix breathed in sharply, watching Narcissa’s movements with apprehension evident in her features. The blonde tried to ignore a slight pang in her chest at that look, the look that Narcissa knew was one of the things Riddle taught her sister. Be apprehensive of everyone but him. When it had just started appearing on Bellatrix’s face almost a decade ago, Narcissa felt betrayed that suddenly she was _everyone_. It still hurt, years and years later, but the pain was fleeting, something she got used to feeling every time she entered Bellatrix’s personal space or showed her basic kindness. 

Narcissa sighed and tucked one of the unruly curls behind Bellatrix’s ear, her fingertips still touching her sister’s hair after that. The corners of her lips twitched in a smile she couldn’t quite hide as she said, “There. Ready to take on the world.” 

And she tried not to think about the literal meaning of these words, she really did. The thoughts and implications crawled out of the depths of her mind on their own. Will Bellatrix winning the presidential election mean her taking on the world? It sounded overly dramatic, come to think of it, but Narcissa knew the way Riddle operated, this greediness for power he possessed, the same greediness that was showing more and more in her older sister. ( _In Bellatrix_ , she corrected herself. Not just her older sister. _Bellatrix_.)

Bellatrix’s lips covered with a red lipstick formed into a smirk. “As always, Cissy.”

Before Narcissa could say anything else, there was the slightest knock on the door. It was opened barely a few seconds later, and as soon as Bellatrix heard the slightest creak of the wood, she distanced herself from Narcissa as much as possible. She took a step back and turned around, coming to the mirror and looking over her reflection critically, as Rodolphus entered the room. 

Narcissa’s hand was still mid-air, where Bellatrix’s shoulder had been just a few seconds ago. The room smelled of her older sister’s scent, this signature bittersweet perfume—some exquisite flower and leather and woodsmoke. She pressed her hand to her side and turned around, meeting Rodolphus’ eyes laced with the slightest hint of worry. She chose to ignore it, clearing her throat and saying, “She’s ready to go. I’ll be in my office, on the phone with Congressman Malfoy. Calls only at top-level emergency.” 

Narcissa left the room in quick, confident strides, Bellatrix’s and Rodolphus’ voices echoing in her mind. As soon as she entered her office, she took in a deep breath. It smelled differently, like her own perfume and papers and a strange mix of whiskey and coffee. This smell was much less suffocating than the one from before. Narcissa headed to her desk and reached for the phone second before it rang. When it did, she put it to her right ear, inhaling sharply and preparing for the worst.

“Narcissa Black speaking.”

* * *

Lucius was relentless when it came to her. It was understandable; there were things between them—unspoken and deeply hidden truths—none of them was ready to forgive. They had been existing in this hung-up state for over a decade now, communicating only when it was about Draco or due to political reasons. During the presidential election, the latter outweighed the former considerably, and they were often forced to talk to each other even when neither Narcissa nor Lucius wanted that.

Sometimes Lucius would avoid her like the plague. As if she was a disease he was ashamed of having once upon a time, a disease he got rid of successfully and didn’t want to look back to. On days like those, everything would go through his assistants and coordinators. He wouldn’t deign her not only with a simple phone call but with an email too. Narcissa learned to love those days—cherish them, even. 

But there were other ones, too; the days when Lucius, being in a state of utter pettiness and ruled by a false sense of superiority, preferred to gloat. On days like these ones, Narcissa still was a disease, but Lucius suddenly valued the fact that he, in his opinion, came out a winner. On days like these, he would call her personally, no assistants or coordinators between them, and disrupt her entire daily routine, enjoying her inability to tell him to leave her alone just because he was under some sort of Riddle’s protection. On days like these ones, Lucius would gloat, his smirk heard even over the phone, and try to show her how small she was compared to him. On days like these ones, Narcissa was quietly planning his murder in her head while she listened to his self-righteous speech on another thing she couldn’t bring herself to care about. 

Sadly for her, today was one of these days. 

Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Pansy, and Daphne left more than an hour ago to get to the set, plenty of time to spare per Narcissa’s special rules, and she was still there. It was more annoying than anything, the way Lucius launched into a detailed description of appetizers that would be served at his little gathering just to hold her back. Narcissa knew he could feel her irritation growing over the phone; she understood she needed to tone it down so her ex-husband would finally _stop_ , but it was honest to God impossible in these circumstances. 

It took another forty minutes before Lucius was satisfied with himself, and Narcissa hung up on him with her signature, “That’s all.” 

By that time, she had been positively drained, exhaustion of the past days finally catching up with her. She breathed in deeply, then breathed out and looked at her wristwatch. It was only fifteen minutes left before the start of today’s episode of _The Shine_ , and Narcissa knew she wouldn’t make it to set in time, kudos to her ex-husband. Bellatrix was well-prepared for this, coached by the best people from their team, and it calmed Narcissa just the tiniest bit as she leaned back on her chair. She reached for the glass of water and took a few small sips before putting it back, and then pulled a stack of papers from one of her desk drawers. The financial team dropped it off a few hours ago, just before everyone who needed to was due to leave for the set, and she decided to give everything a review until the show started. 

About twenty papers and fifty-six thousand dollars later, Narcissa was pulled out of the routine task by a loud ringing from her right side. She cast a quick glance to her watch purely out of habit and frowned when she realized it was just a few minutes before _The Shine_ was supposed to go on air. She hastily reached for her phone, registering Pansy’s name, and answered the call. 

Before she could say anything, though, Pansy blurted out a panicked, “Narcissa, turn the TV on right _now_.” The brunette actually sounded frantic, so different from her usual collected self, and there was a clear _something_ behind her behavior Narcissa couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

She frowned but reached for the remote nonetheless, turning the TV on and switching to the channel _The Shine_ was airing on. Lockhart’s show hadn’t started yet—there was a dog food commercial that had been on TV for the past two months. (Narcissa was getting sick of it, really. And Ophelia and Kallista started pestering Rodolphus and her about the dog after the twelfth time they had seen it.) 

“I’ve seen this ad hundreds of times, Pansy.”

“The ad?” She could feel the way the girl frowned on the other end of the line, but nothing—not even years of knowing the brunette—could prepare Narcissa for the words Pansy blurted out next. “It’s not about the ad. Bellatrix is furious, we just got told she wasn’t going to be in tonight’s episode!”

“ _What?_ ” Narcissa drawled, her voice dangerously low. 

“They replaced her last minute, it’s—”

Narcissa could feel the vein on her forehead throbbing from barely contained rage. Gilderoy _fucking_ Lockhart. She was going to _destroy_ him. “That shallow brainless cricket,” she muttered under her breath, clutching the phone in her hand to the point of feeling pain in her muscles. “Who? Who did that Lockhart replaced her with?”

“Narcissa, it’s—”

Before Pansy could finish her sentence, Narcissa heard it; this thick, sickeningly sweet voice that belonged to no one else but infamous Gilderoy Lockhart. 

“Good evening, America!” he announced happily, drawing Narcissa’s attention to the screen in front of her. His perfect, too unreal smile was firmly in place when he looked right at the main camera. “We’re doing something new tonight. Thanks to the recent events and various articles I’ve read, my attention was once again drawn to the most important matters at hand right now. The presidential election.” There was a collective surprised gasp from the audience, and Gilderoy laughed at that slightly, flashing another one of his smiles. “I know that’s not something we normally discuss here, but I suppose some of you might have questions about the topic, and I say you should have them answered. By all means, I’m no expert when it comes to politics, so today I’m gonna use a little help. Darling, you can come out now!” he called out in an entirely overly enthusiastic way, leaning forward in his seat and looking sideways. 

Narcissa put her phone on the table as a young woman appeared on the screen. She was wearing a simple but elegant black suit with a white button-up shirt, her brown hair fixed in a stylish updo. She smiled at the audience, looking at every camera but the main one, and waved her hand as the round of applause came to a stop. Her stride to one of the couches was confident but seemed effortless, not practiced at all. As the younger woman sat down, Narcissa found her posture to be the perfect one, but it didn’t look rigid or forced in the slightest. _Effortless_ , Narcissa thought again as she leaned forward a bit, narrowing her eyes at the TV screen. Everything about her seemed painfully effortless. 

And so Narcissa watched as her phone kept ringing, ringing, ringing. She had seen Bellatrix’s name too many times, then Rodolphus’ and Pansy’s and Daphne’s too, but her gaze was drawn to the screen, millions of questions running through her mind at godspeed. 

What was she doing there? Why was she there? _How_ was she there? Why did her face seem somewhat familiar? And, most importantly, who the hell was she? 

Lockhart’s voice seemed far away as he launched into his introductory speech without even introducing his guest the way he usually did. The younger woman didn’t look bothered by it in the slightest. She kept smiling—this easy, effortless smile, just the slightest upturn of her lips which looked awfully natural, terribly _real_. Narcissa caught herself thinking she could never stand people who smiled like that.

Lockhart’s voice was sickeningly sweet, just like honey, and made Narcissa want to throw up as he asked the audience if anyone had any questions about the ongoing presidential election. The cameras switched to the hundreds of people in the audience, almost all of their hands raised, and that was when Narcissa felt it. It was building up slowly, from the pit of her stomach, up, up and _up_ until forming a painful lump in her throat. She gripped at her desk with both of her hands, eyes never leaving the screen, and _felt_ it. This undeniable, monstrous feeling of a missed opportunity. The one she was _not_ used to experiencing at all. 

It was a question after question after question that cemented this crippling failure deep inside of her. Simple, general questions from the audience at first. The difference between parties and their policies, how both the primaries and the general election worked, the importance of voting explained in simple terms. After about half an hour—at that point, Narcissa probably had about forty missed calls from four different numbers at the very least—the younger woman went deeper, dropping and explaining names, explaining policies. She lingered on every candidate: first Albus Dumbledore, then Barty Crouch Sr, Amelia Bones, Mariette Edgecombe, Dedalus Diggle, Amos Diggory. She spent as much time explaining Andromeda Tonks’ campaign and her platform as she had on all the other ones, and Narcissa, for the love of God, couldn’t figure out what _exactly_ the younger woman was up to. 

She smiled while talking, all the time. It was the slightest upturn of her lips, but it was genuine, sincere in a way Narcissa wasn’t used to seeing in her work field. _Effortless_. The brunette was patient with every person who asked a question and didn’t mind at all when there was a string of the follow-ups almost on every single one. Her voice was calm, such a vast difference from Lockhart’s. There was an air of confidence behind it, a quiet but firm way she had spoken in, soft around the edges at the same time. It seemed like the younger woman’s smile somehow managed to seep into every syllable, filling it from within and powering it word after word, and it was truly, excruciatingly maddening. 

The brunette’s voice and smile were effortless and genuine in a way Gilderoy Lockhart’s could never, ever be, but somehow, she was thrice as annoying as the man. No one could possibly be _that_ , Narcissa thought. But it wasn’t just the smile or the gentle flow of the younger woman’s voice that was nagging at Narcissa—she could physically feel there was something else behind her every word, behind the way she gestured with her hands while proving a point and patiently explaining someone’s platform. There was _something_ in a way the brunette hadn’t looked at the main camera, not even once in over forty minutes of the show, as if it was purely coincidental. 

It was a question after question after question that turned the feeling of a missed opportunity into something darker, sharper, _stronger_ ; into something similar to the blind-hot rage filling every cell in her body with every passing minute. Narcissa fumed, gripping at her desk harder and harder, and she knew that if she had had a super strength like that character from the Dc or Marvel comics, it would’ve already been snapped in half. Because people seemed to like the brunette, genuinely enjoying her presence on screen. And _that_ was supposed to be Bellatrix in there, being admired by the voters, getting herself elected in the process, and tanking the leading Democratic candidate more and more and _more_ , until there was no going back from the damage. 

It took Narcissa a long-awaited question about Bellatrix’s policies and her unwavering support of the current President—the first question about her at all, at the end of the show—to finally _get_ it. It was in a way the younger woman turned her face to the main camera just the tiniest bit right after the question was asked, as if to finally look at it, but stopped herself at the last moment, focusing her attention back on a person from the audience. Narcissa was truly, utterly ashamed it took her that long—almost fifty whole minutes—to realize that she wasn’t _just_ being outmaneuvered by this picture-perfect millennial. No, everything was bigger. It felt like the younger woman was putting on a show just for her to see. 

So Narcissa watched and waited for the final blow because what _else_ was she supposed to do? 

She watched as the brunette patiently explained why she would never agree with Bellatrix’s policies, and Narcissa loathed every single word of it. The words weren’t biting or harsh or explicitly aggressive; everything was said in the tone that commanded both attention _and_ trust. This trust from the audience, from the _voters_ —it was important, it was something Bellatrix hadn’t always had and was supposed to get today if it wasn’t for the younger woman. 

If it wasn’t for her voice, for this gentle flow of syllables that whispered _you can trust me_ with every question asked. If it wasn’t for this soft barely-there smile that somehow managed to look twenty times more sincere than Gilderoy Lockhart’s full-blown green or even Narcissa’s best political smiles she reserved for people she didn’t particularly despise. If it wasn’t, for God’s sake, for this air of confidence around her that Narcissa could _feel_ through the damn screen. 

It was sort of the combination of all three that made the final blow. 

It was less than two minutes before the show’s end when the Q&A session came to an end, and the younger woman looked at Gilderoy Lockhart with something akin to expectation. 

The man grinned. “My, my, thank you so much! I think even I can go into politics after spending an hour listening to your answers to all these questions.” He winked at the main camera, and there was a mix of laughter from the audience, some deep and some high-pitched. 

Narcissa had never believed in God, but even she sent a string of _please don’t_ prayers. However, the most interesting part was how the brunette’s smile turned more forced, not enough for people to notice, but for Narcissa? She reveled in the way the younger woman clenched her jaw ever-so-slightly. There was no sincerity behind, no genuine emotion the younger woman displayed while interacting with the audience. 

“There is a question a lot of people have been dying to get an answer for, though,” he kept on, bringing this dramatic effect back to his voice. Narcissa knew what the question would be, only because she had been waiting for the answer for the past hour. “The question is… Who are you, exactly?”

It was followed by silence, and Narcissa cast a quick glance at her wristwatch. It was precisely one minute before the show was supposed to automatically go off the air, but the brunette didn’t seem in a hurry to name herself. The next forty second felt like minutes, which felt like hours, and it felt like an eternity had passed before the younger woman had finally looked at the main camera for the first time since she came onto the stage. Narcissa gasped involuntarily as soon as she met hazel eyes through the screen. There was _something_ in them, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint but knew all too well after seeing it in the mirror almost every day. 

The change in the younger woman was noticeable to Narcissa. It wasn’t a slight smile tugging her lips anymore but rather a small satisfied smirk. It felt like she was looking right at Narcissa as she spoke up. “I’m Hermione Granger, a newly appointed communications director for the Tonks campaign.”

And when the show went off the air, and when everyone else saw a mix of blue and gold and Gilderoy Lockhart’s smiling face, all Narcissa could see was red. 


	4. two sides of the same coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **as always, for helena, my biggest supporter in the universe <3**

**MARCH 4**

_17 Days Until Bathilda Bagshot’s Gala_

The sound of a folder being rapidly dropped on a table seemed louder than bombs in the defeating silence that reigned over the conference room of the Black headquarters. Narcissa saw Daphne wince a little out of the corner of her eye before she looked over everyone present at a meeting. 

Daphne looked a little bit scared, while next to her, Pansy was a perfect embodiment of _“I’ll crush anyone for you.”_ Still, Narcissa caught the brunette fidgeting with her silver necklace, which gave away the nervousness Pansy tried to hide so desperately. Rodolphus was seated to Daphne’s right, his shoulders tense and expression still a bit shocked as if he couldn’t believe what had actually happened. 

Fortunately, Bellatrix wasn’t present at the briefing—Narcissa couldn’t be sure it was for the best, though. She had a private meeting with Bellatrix _and_ Riddle in the White House later today, and she could imagine how that would go. 

“I want all of you to answer a very simple question for me,” she said, her voice pure steel as she put her hands on the table and leaned forward, looking over the three of them. “How on _earth_ ,” Narcissa seethed, the urge to start swearing right this second stronger than ever, “did all of you overlook something that _huge_ while being right _there_?”

Pansy took in a sharp breath.

“Narcissa, it was—”

Narcissa held up her hand, effectively silencing Pansy.

“How on _earth_ ,” she kept on, not done in the slightest, “did you let these _amateurs_ ,” she spat out the word, her voice still dangerously low, almost a whisper by now, “sneak a twenty-something, fresh-out-of-the-university political _barbie_ ,” at that, Narcissa had to pause and take a calming breath, “to the set _right_ under your noses?”

Pansy opened her mouth, intending to talk, but Narcissa simply shook her head, directing her gaze at Rodolphus.

“You. _Talk_.”

Narcissa pushed away from the table and folded her arms. Emerald silk felt nice on her skin, bringing a strange sense of comfort, especially compared to the black, highly uncomfortable yet extremely fashionable black pencil-skirt and high heels she had on today. 

Rodolphus sighed audibly, straightening his shoulders as if he was preparing to go to a goddamn war. _Honestly_. Narcissa wasn’t _that_ intimidating. 

“I don’t know how, but apparently they convinced Lockhart that this Granger girl would be more beneficial for his—”

“You can stop right there,” she cut him off, casting a quick glance at Pansy. “Pansy, would you be so kind as to tell me,” she drawled, her lips forming into a small, predatory smirk, “what do I appreciate when I ask for explanations?”

“CCLF,” Pansy replied immediately, the acronym always in the back of her mind ever since she started working for Narcissa. “Certainty, clarity, logic, and facts.”

Narcissa nodded and tilted her head, not taking her eyes off Pansy. “Name what Rodolphus’ explanation clearly lacks.” 

Pansy shot an apologetic look to Rodolphus before settling her eyes back on the older woman and saying,

“Everything.”

Narcissa nodded approvingly once again. “Let me lay out all the facts for you three.” 

She turned around and walked to the whiteboard, rolling up her silk blouse sleeves. She grabbed a black marker in her right hand, taking the cap off, and started talking and writing the key points down as soon as everyone’s eyes settled on her. 

“First, Rodolphus and I had dinner with a man version of Barbie Mariposa, where we booked yesterday’s night episode for our candidate. Believe me when I say he was _ecstatic_ about it. In a “jumping around like a golden retriever puppy” kind of way.”

Narcissa heard someone snicker at her words—it was probably Pansy.

“Then, all three of you came to the set, Bellatrix fully ready for her live appearance on national television, but everything got canceled last minute. And I received a call about Bellatrix, current two-term Vice-President of the United States, a Republican candidate for President, being _replaced_ ,” she spat the word out as she underlined it two times on the whiteboard, “with a walking political child-like perfection _Hermione Granger_. Am I missing something?” 

She turned around to face them, her eyes finding Pansy right away on their own accord. The brunette had her eyebrow slightly raised, as if silently asking what probably no other person knew, and Narcissa swallowed. 

When Pansy told her about this girl yesterday, Narcissa didn’t pay any particular attention to it. However, she had once, back when that young woman dared to actually _break_ her son’s nose for absolutely no reason—and Narcissa was still mad at the fact that she didn’t get expelled. Narcissa couldn’t even begin to think this rebellious _creature_ , who apparently had absolutely no regard for any kinds of rules, would get in her way. That this young woman would dare _cross_ her—and that was exactly what Hermione Granger did. 

It made Narcissa’s blood boil as she remembered how Granger waited almost a full minute and looked at the main camera for the first time only as she introduced herself to the United States. There was no doubt that look was explicitly directed at Narcissa, and she had to admit it did get under her skin, causing the slightest desire to tear it off as she replayed this moment in her head over and over again. Hazel eyes. A perfect suit, perfectly styled hair. This little self-confident smirk of a person who knew they had just won. 

Narcissa Black was outmaneuvered by a freshly-out-of-Stanford _nobody_ , and it kept nagging at her. Because, she realized, it happened due to her breaking her own main rule. Don’t relax, don’t underestimate your opponent. That was exactly what she did, but how could she _not_? Draco, Pansy, Daphne, this Granger girl—they were all in the same year at Stanford. Pansy was her scheduling coordinator. Draco was making his way up the ladder on his own when he started working for Rookwood’s office last year. Daphne handled media interactions for the Black campaign and ran an independent political blog. Jobs fitting for their age and abilities, in Narcissa’s opinion. 

But… _Hermione Granger_.

When Pansy mentioned her, Narcissa didn’t dwell on it because of her age and lack of experience. Thinking of it now, that was a quite foolish decision on her part. She knew that the only positions the Tonks campaign had free were the jobs of campaign manager and communications director, and the girl clearly seemed too young for both of these. So Narcissa assumed she would be a member of the minor staff, maybe somewhere behind the curtains of her older sister’s media team, or just a simple volunteer. And an ordinary young woman with a job so insignificant in the grand scheme of things was surely no threat to Narcissa. 

Except for the fact that she turned out to be one, and it was impossible to deny. Everyone in the room knew that, but Narcissa and Pansy did most of all. The knowledge was shared between the two while Narcissa’s mistake, stupidity, and utter foolishness were glowing in the conference room’s bright fluorescent lighting. 

She closed her eyes, breathed in and out a few times to collect herself, and mere seconds later, her blue eyes snapped open and settled back on Rodolphus. She knew her eyes were cold as ice, both the color and the intensity of her gaze, but god, Narcissa was sure she could burn a hole in her best friend right this second if she wanted. 

“Tell me, Rodolphus,” she began, putting off the marker for good, the word _replaced_ staring at them all from the whiteboard behind Narcissa’s back, “how is a _nobody_ better than the Vice-President and future President of the United States?” 

Narcissa faltered a bit—calling Bellatrix the president felt rather strange, for some unfathomable reason. As if the title didn’t fit, like some expensive but hideous dress no one would wear to a black-tie party, which was surely absurd—the title was just right for Bellatrix. Her older sister _would_ be the next president because Narcissa was exceptionally good at her job. ( _Not just her older sister_ , she corrected herself. _Bellatrix. Bellatrix.)_

Daphne chimed in before Rodolphus could answer. 

“Well, she’s not a nobody anymore.” She swallowed hard when Narcissa narrowed her eyes at her but still kept on. “Everyone is talking about her. Twitter has been _literally_ blowing up ever since people started live-tweeting _The Shine_. Everyone loves her, there’s a hashtag going around, and I checked the polls today—more Democrats voted they would choose the Senator as their next President. All in all, Hermione was very well-perceived by the audience, and a lot of people liked that she didn’t start off with who she was. The fact that she talked about what was going on and not about herself—it touched a nerve for some.”

Narcissa genuinely hoped the dreamy, breathless, impressive notes to Daphne’s voice as she talked about this Granger girl were simply a hearing hallucination. Judging by the nudge from Pansy, which resulted in a quiet yelp leaving Daphne’s lips, it most certainly wasn’t one. She let it slide nonetheless.

Narcissa sighed, rolling her sleeves down as she walked to the table very slowly. Pansy’s, Daphne’s and Rodolphus’ eyes were settled on her, expectant and just the right amount of scared and intimidated she needed right now. When she was finished with her blouse, she took her bag from its place on the table and headed towards a closed door. She stopped right in front of it and turned around.

“By the end of this day, I want to know everything there is on Hermione Granger. I want to know her better than her best friends do, better than her family does, better than her lovers _ever_ did,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “Do everything you possibly can, use everyone at your disposal,” she made a small pause, contemplating her decision. “Get Dolohov on it. Dig to the bottoms of the earth if you have to, leave absolutely _no_ stone unturned. Hermione Granger may be a Queen of this little game right now, but I want her to be a fallen one by the end of the day.”

* * *

Hermione was yanked to the side as soon as she entered the Tonks campaign headquarters. It took her a few seconds to realize that she was pulled into a very tight, almost rib-crashing embrace. Still, these three or five seconds were enough for her mind to go to the inevitable place of _“I fucked Narcissa Black over, so she has probably already sent some assassins my way.”_

In reality, it was just Lily. After she was done hugging Hermione as if her life depended on it, she pulled away, her hands firmly settled on Hermione’s shoulders. There was a wide, radiant grin on her face as she said, “I think you might be my new favorite person in the entire universe. I love you.” 

Hermione chuckled. “I’ll tell this to your husband and son. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear about this interesting development.”

Lily rolled her eyes, letting out a dreamy sigh, her eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“Oh, honey.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind Hermione’s ear. “That’s old news. They’ve known it for years.” 

They started laughing at the same time, but Lily calmed down fairly quickly, especially for her. She looked at Hermione, her expression more serious but just as sincere.

“I mean that, Mione. You did great, absolutely freaking ama—”

“Ah, you’re back to your little crush,” Nymphadora chuckled as she appeared out of nowhere, stopping behind Lily. “Mom asked me where you both were, so I told her you were too busy making out to make it to our morning briefing in time,” she said, her smirk only growing as a shocked and scandalous gasp left Lily’s lips. 

Lily turned around, narrowed her eyes, and glared at the younger woman. To Hermione, it seemed like the intensity of her glare could turn Nymphadora’s pink-ish hair into bright red, much like Lily’s own.

 _“Nymphadora_ _.”_

“What?” Tonks asked, batting her eyelashes innocently as she folded her hands. “I’m kidding, Red. Chill out a little,” she teased, clearly enjoying the way Lily bristled at the nickname. “Or maybe I’m not?”

Lily rolled her eyes, pointing at Nymphadora accusingly before casting a quick glance at Hermione as if asking for support. “Mark my words, Mione—this one will be the death of me.”

Nymphadora simply smirked in response, grabbing the older woman’s outstretched hand and pulling her closer. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I will be, but only after the election. I’ll even organize your funeral—there will be a nice service, everyone will say a few words, and the speech of being the love of your life for years will go to Hermione, of course.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up at that, her eyes getting wider.

“Did anyone think of asking me first?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Lily chuckled, looking over her shoulder. “Nymphadora doesn’t think in general.”

“It’s _you_ who doesn’t think in general, Red,” Nymphadora shot back, trying to make the older woman move, but unsuccessfully. “Because if you did use that glorious brain of your press-secretary persona, you would’ve already caught up to the fact that as of now, you’re at least three minutes late to a morning briefing with your _boss_. Who happens to be my mother, who happens to be a Democratic candidate for POTUS.” 

Lily looked at her wristwatch, alarmed, and a string of quietly murmured curses filled the entire hallway right after that.

“Couldn’t you lead with that?” she hissed as she walked forward, entering the open office. 

Hermione followed suit, the quiet bickering of these two ringing in her years until it got drowned out by the sounds of the presidential campaign.

As she walked to the conference room in the furthest corner of the headquarters, she couldn’t help but look around the open office. The desks were littered with various papers and last volumes of the magazines and newspapers, and Hermione spotted at least nine coffee cups in thirty seconds. Her eyes traveled from one desk to another as she looked for the people she had already talked to more than twice. Her gaze stopped on Hannah then, who was hunched over her desk and furiously writing something down in her little notebook.

Hermione halted her steps and smiled at the sight of the hard-working blonde who reminded her of herself when she was younger. As if being able to hear her thoughts, Hannah looked around until her blue eyes stopped on Hermione. She grinned then, blushing a little, and waved her hand in a greeting. Right after that, she seemed horrified with herself for having done such a thing. 

Hermione let out a little laugh, waved back and smiled. She quickened her steps then and reached Lily and Nymphadora—who were still bickering and, strangely enough, talking about the funeral—by the time the door to the conference room was opened in front of them. 

“Here you are,” Andromeda said from the doorstep as she placed her hand on the threshold and looked all three of them over. Hermione found herself straightening her shoulders without really meaning to. 

Hermione had always thought that Andromeda Tonks was a very impressive, gorgeously-looking woman. Her style was elegant and simple, the black sheath dress and the navy-blue jacket fitting her perfectly. The black heels she had on made her tower over Hermione, but she was sure that the older woman was a few centimeters shorter than her without them. Her dark-brown curls were gotten under control and transformed into neat, perfectly styled locks that were framing her face in just the right way.

Hermione was unable to look away until Nymphadora nudged at her side. Her eyes settled on Tonks then, and she was met with a scandalously raised eyebrow. 

As Lily and Andromeda exchanged a few words and entered the conference room, Nymphadora leaned closer to Hermione and whispered, her tone teasing and accusing at the same time, “Have you just been staring at my _mother?_ ” 

“ _No_ ,” Hermione replied much too quickly, her voice an octave higher than usual. Nymphadora just looked at her disbelievingly, making her concede. “Okay, yes. In my defense, more than half of the United States population spends some time staring at your mother during the day.”

Nymphadora narrowed her eyes as if considering it and ended up shrugging and nodding right after that as she said, “Touché. Can’t really argue with that one, can I?” 

Before Hermione could muster a response, Nymphadora gently pushed her forward. The brunette took a deep breath as she entered the conference room, looking around. Andromeda already stood at the head of the table, while Lily sat a few chairs away from her place, attentive as always. They joined the redhead fairly quickly, Hermione sitting down right next to Lily. Nymphadora chose the seat on the opposite side of the table, giving them both a meaningful raise of an eyebrow and a smirk twice as eloquent. 

The briefing started with Lily and Andromeda discussing the draft of Senator Tonks’ speech for Bathilda’s Bagshot gala. Hermione tuned out of this conversation fairly quickly; she had already gone over it with both of them separately and then together. She supposed that by now, she remembered everything written in that Microsoft Word document better than she remembered her own name. 

And as she drowned out Lily’s and Andromeda’s voices, her mind immediately going back to the hectic day she had yesterday. To be honest. Hermione had no idea her trial run in the form of the Super Tuesday would go that way. It all came together pretty suddenly, in the least expected place, when she overheard a conversation and an entirely crazy idea hit her like a train. 

She went out to have a late-night dinner with Lily barely an hour after the clock hit midnight on March 3rd. By that time, she had already been at the Tonks campaign headquarters for hours, slumped over a table with Lily by her side as she frantically tried to understand how to make an impression on Andromeda. Lily pitched some ideas, gave her the names of the people they had been dying to get an interview with but were unable to, thinking that maybe Hermione could get it for Andromeda and prove herself that way. And as great as this idea was—Hermione would surely get back to it in a few days or weeks—it seemed a little bland to her, too simple to make a _real_ impression.

 _Bloody Baron_ was one of Lily’s favorite places that, according to her, had the best steak in town. So when the redhead found out Hermione had been running on an empty stomach the entire day, she almost dragged her out of the headquarters. 

“I promised you breakfast, but you’re in desperate need of dinner,” Lily said as they walked down the street, both of their coats forgotten at the office. The evening air of the early March was quite chilly, and Hemione folded her arms as she tried to warm herself up while Lily glanced at her once again. “It seems I’ll have to take you out twice. Oh well. More office gossip for Nymphadora, I guess.” 

She shrugged then, letting out a little laugh, and Hermione found herself shaking her head and smiling as Lily took her by her arm, pressing their bodies closer and leading them further down the street. They reached _Bloody Baron_ in no time, which was quite surprising, considering the _gigantic_ heels Lily had on—Hermione felt tiny compared to the older woman. 

They were given one of the most secluded tables in the restaurant’s furthest corner and spent there for about an hour. Hermione had to admit that their steak was indeed to die for, and the red wine Lily got for herself exuded a rich, strong scent that made Hermione swallow hard. She would pour herself a glass as soon as she was done with her trial run, that she was sure of. Of course, her wine selection at home wasn’t as glorious as Lily’s choice, but it would have to do. 

They had been talking about everything but politics, both of them in desperate need of not only dinner but of some distance from everything happening around them, too. Hermione rambled about the documentary she had seen last week, and Lily shared some funny stories from the latest family trip all for the Potters went to—it was quite a long time ago, even before Christmas. An hour passed by before Hermione could even notice it, and she found herself to be more relaxed than she had been in the past twenty-four hours. The waitress just put the plate with the tiramisu in front of Hermione when Lily’s phone chimed with a few notifications, breaking a comfortable half-silence that settled between them in the past minutes. 

Lily took her phone out of her bag, and Hermione watched her eyes narrow before she let out a breath, asmile returning to her face.

“Everything okay?” she asked just in case, her eyes flickering to the older woman’s phone. 

Lily nodded, giving her another small smile that felt somewhat calming, making Hermione let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

“Andy wants me back for a discussion on Bathilda Bagshot and the subtle ways we can sway her to our side and get her endorsement,” Lily said hastily, standing up and grabbing her bag from the nearest chair. “Shouldn’t be hard, considering that she never supported You Know Who, but… trying a little harder will only help in the long run.” 

Hermione nodded and chuckled at the nickname. _You Know Who_. She was familiar with how President Riddle was called ever since she started working for Congresswoman McGonagall’s office. He wasn’t exactly liked by the people Hermione surrounded him, but it seemed dangerous to mention his name while expressing the lack of support a person had for their current president—it felt like every time it happened, he and his staff would know. Hermione watched some people get fired over it the same day they mentioned they didn’t exactly agree with his policies or that they thought his head was shaped like an egg. 

It was crazy, the influence and the power he had even in places like Minerva’s office, who clearly despised him but in ways so subtle that still allowed her to keep her job. Hermione knew how fast gossip traveled in a political world, especially in Washington. All it took was a mention of a name, not-so-nice words about _him_ , and the right person overhearing it all, and suddenly, you could find yourself losing your job or even worse. With calling President Riddle _You Know Who_ came the faintest sense of security, the vagueness of the nickname opening doors for discussions in public a lot of people needed and craved. 

Hermione pulled herself out of her thoughts as she started to stand up too, but before she could, she felt Lily’s hand on her shoulder, firmly but softly bringing her back to her seat. Hermione looked up, raising her eyebrow, and watched as Lily shook her head, some red strands falling out from where they were tucked behind her ears before. 

“You’re eating that tiramisu, or God help _you_ ,” she said firmly, narrowing her eyes. “It’s just ten minutes, Mione. Don’t hurry, finish it here, and then come back. I don’t want you to die of starvation or low blood sugar two hours after the beginning of your trial run. Okay?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine.” 

Lily smiled as she took her hand off Hermione’s shoulder and brought it to her face, tucking a strand of hair that fell out of Hermione’s messy ponytail. 

“I know you’re worried, but you have absolutely no reason to be. Sometimes, we get the most unexpected idea just from looking around. And you, my dear, thrive on noticing things,” Lily chuckled, bringing her hand back to Hermione’s shoulder and squeezing it slightly. “So, finish the damn dessert, and then come back to the office. Understood?” she asked, her voice becoming more serious and firmer by the end. 

Hermione smiled disbelievingly, raising her eyebrow quizzically. 

“You do realize I’m actually your _boss_ , right?” 

“Oh, shut it. And it will become an _effective immediately_ kind of thing only after you successfully complete your trial run,” Lily shrugged, watching as Hermione opened her mouth, no doubt to say something about not being sure she would be able to complete it. “No, do not give me anything of the sort.” Lily shook her head stubbornly, not letting the younger woman get a single word in. “I’m enjoying the last hours of you not bossing me around because I’m one-hundred percent sure that by the end of the day, everyone will know you as the new communications director for the Tonks campaign.” 

She leaned forward then, leaving a quick kiss on Hermione’s cheek, and left, her heels clacking on the dark wooden floor before the sound disappeared entirely as the older woman walked out of the restaurant. 

Looking back on it now, sitting in the conference room during her second briefing, Hermione chuckled at the thought of Lily being right in absolutely everything. Because at the end of Super Tuesday, Hermione declared herself to be the new communications director for the leading Democratic candidate on national television. 

But twenty hours before that, she looked around, still sitting at _Bloody Baron_ with a half-finished tiramisu in front of her. She thought it was ridiculous, even entertaining herself with the idea that she would find something impressive here, at the steakhouse, which wasn’t even considered a _political_ place, to begin with. However, all thoughts of this origin seemed to fly out of her mind on a private jet as soon as her eyes flickered to the table a few feet away from hers. Because at that table, in the company of two men, was Narcissa Black herself. 

The older woman was easily recognizable. Her face had been plastered all over political blogs, magazines and newspapers ever since Bellatrix Black announced she would be running for President and tasked her younger sister with taking over her campaign. Hermione lost the count of how many times she had seen it, without any smile on the older woman’s face or with what everyone called a political smile, the _Ice Queen’s_ smile. 

Hermione watched, mesmerized, as Narcissa flickered her wrist, and one of the waiters came running to her. The younger woman couldn’t make out what she was ordering from a distance, but everything became perfectly clear when the waiter appeared with a bottle of expensive red wine barely two minutes later. Only then Hermione’s eyes moved from Narcissa in her black sheath dress to a man next to her. It took a few long seconds for Hermione’s memory to kick in, but she recognized him as Rodolphus Lestrange. And as if it wasn’t enough of a shock, the man who had his back to Hermione looked oddly familiar—hilariously bright clothing and a hair so golden and with so much volume that it just _had_ to be a wig. 

Hermione forgot about her tiramisu completely as she watched the waiter pour the wine into three glasses. Each of them then took it into their hands, and Hermione saw Narcissa’s lips move as she said something before a dangerous but polite smirk appeared on her face. The older woman looked almost _delighted_. Hermione swallowed when they clinked their glasses. 

She was pretty sure she was holding her breath until everyone at the table stood up. A shocked gasp left her lips as the blonde man turned his face in Hermione’s direction, looking past her, as she recognized Gilderoy Lockhart in him. She had no idea why, but Ronald had always enjoyed watching his show, so she had to suffer through some episodes along with Harry. 

As all three of them headed to the exit, Hermione could swear her mind started working a mile a minute. Lockhart didn’t talk about politics or any other important topics on his show; that’s why Hermione never had any interest in it. But could it be that he decided to make an exception for Vice-President Black? That would explain this meeting in such a late hour and in such an unexpected place; it would explain the utter delight on Narcissa’s face because the older woman truly looked as if she had just secured the deal of the century. 

An idea appeared in Hermione’s mind out of nowhere as she watched the door of the steakhouse open for a few incoming people. A smile graced her features before she could realize it because this _idea_ —it was absolutely brilliant, mind-shattering, and probably the craziest thing she had ever thought of. But if she could do it, if she could find a _way_ —it would secure her the communications director job in no time. 

And just like that, the decision was made. Hermione was going to take something from Narcissa Black; to book an appearance on _The Shine_ for Andromeda or Lily instead of Bellatrix. She was going to outmaneuver Narcissa Black, the one and only Ice Queen of the Washington political world. 

It had been relatively easy after that; just a few phone calls did the job. The first one was Ginny, who got her position as a junior reporter in _The Washington Prophet_ just a few months ago. Hermione knew one of her ex-classmates whom she still talked to had been working on the scheduling team of _The Shine_ —that’s how Ronald got to see the set last year. It took some waiting and bribing Ginny with Hermione’s tickets to Katy Perry’s concert—she wasn’t going to go anyway, but Hermione got a confirmation she needed in the end. Bellatrix Black was indeed booked to appear on Gilderoy Lockhart’s show.

She left the restaurant in a rush, thankful to the universe for Lily paying the bill because she would probably end up forgetting about this little detail. Hermione reached the campaign headquarters in no time, and all eyes flickered to her—Andromeda’s, Lily’s and Nymphadora’s—as soon as she entered a briefing room, a little breathless. She straightened her shoulders, her gaze focused on Andromeda, determined as ever. 

“I’m pretty sure I just found a way to beat Narcissa Black on a national television,” Hermione said in such a voice as if she was just telling all of them about how delicious her tiramisu was. 

Nymphadora has actually dropped a cup of coffee on the floor as soon as the words left Hermione’s lips.

After a mild discussion, they had decided Hermione would be the one appearing on _The Shine_ , not Andromeda or Lily. The older women’s insistence on this little detail baffled Hermione as she tried to understand what exactly they wanted her to do or say on a damn _national television_. Andromeda was vague with her replies, not giving her anything substantial, and Hermione’s only option was to improvise and think of something worthy and mind-blowing herself. They wanted to make an impression and get people’s attention, to sway the voters from other Democratic candidates to Andromeda since she was the only one who could win an election against Bellatrix Black.

Ginny got a pass for Hermione through her friend, and the morning of Super Tuesday, Hermione found herself talking to Gilderoy Lockhart. He looked doubtful at first, and she could tell he was still so impressed by Narcissa and her elegance and undeniable beauty that it was hard for him to think straight. Talking to him felt like talking to a five-year-old child; thankfully, Hermione had some experience in this area from her years of babysitting when she was back in high school. Children loved shiny things and attention, and that was exactly what Hermione promised to Lockhart. She was pretty sure she told him the aftermath of her appearance on his show instead of Bellatrix Black would be _iconic_ , that everyone would be talking about it. 

In the end, he conceded, giving her the Vice-President’s spot, and the only other thing Hermione asked of him was to keep this under wraps; to not breathe a word out nor to his team neither to Narcissa’s. She knew that if she wanted to do it right, she needed the element of surprise. 

In the end, Hermione was right. The aftermath was iconic. Every newspaper, magazine or blog that had to do with something even remotely political talked about her appearance on the show or mentioned it. Still, to Hermione, that wasn’t even the most important part. The most important thing, the one that made her smile every time she thought about it, was the fact that she outmaneuvered Narcissa Black, went right under her nose, and took something that was _hers_. And to think of how truly _pissed off_ Narcissa must be right now… that was an entirely different thing. 

As Andromeda’s and Lily’s voices came back to her, Hermione found herself staring at the coffee stain on the carpeted floor in front of her eyes—they would have to replace it next week because Nymphadora wasn’t able to wash it out. 

Her eyes found Andromeda’s once again, and as if the older woman could sense it, her gaze traveled from Lily to the younger woman as she stopped her little speech mid-sentence. It seemed like Andromeda saw something in Hermione’s expression—maybe some sort of confidence or even her entire line of thought. The older woman’s eyebrows shot up as a small smile she was giving Lily turned into a half-smirk. 

“Hermione Granger, the new communications director for the Tonks campaign,” Andromeda drawled, repeating Hermione’s words said on television last night. Her voice was solemn as she folded her arms and shifted her weight from one leg to another. “Tell us about the aftermath of your latest success.” 

Lily turned around then, her eyes finding Hermione’s immediately as she offered her an encouraging smile. The younger woman smiled back a few seconds before she heard Nymphadora’s scoff, but her gaze stopped on Andromeda once again as she stood up, drawing everyone’s attention to herself. 

“It’s all everyone has been talking about for the past fourteen hours,” Hermione said, heading towards the whiteboard. She grabbed a black marker, seeing Andromeda and Lily lean on the table behind them, their eyes firmly settled on her. “I took a closer look at the polls; people are 67% more likely to vote Tonks for President than they had been before the show. We’re waiting for a comeback from Dumbledore’s team, but so far, they’ve been silent, and I believe they will remain so,” she kept on, writing down some more numbers on the whiteboard. 

“Meanwhile, an opinion on you,” she threw a glance over her shoulder, catching Andromeda’s eyes for a second, “in the media is and just generally in the Democratic party is divided in half. Some people are praising you for hiring a young female for such an important role in your campaign, for giving her a voice and a chance to prove herself,” Hermione said, writing the key points down in the form of a scheme. It felt bizarre, talking about herself in the third person, but she kept going. 

“However, other people deem you _foolish_ for trusting with a job of such margin to a green, immature girl,” she shared as calmly as she could, remembering one of the columns she had stumbled upon earlier today while reading a paper. “So far, the former opinion overpowers the latter, since people seem to be quite tired of politicians over fifty-five years old, such as Congressman Dumbledore and President Riddle. Voters from age 18 to 28 are showing their support of your choice on social media, and general reception of me is, to be honest, better than I expected it would be.”

She turned around then, finished with her little two-part scheme. She met Andromeda’s eyes then, watching the older woman slowly nod as she processed everything that was just said to her. 

Then, Andromeda tilted her head slightly to the left and asked, “And what about the Black campaign? Do we have any response from their team?”

“Silent, too. I vote that they’re digging right now,” Hermione admitted, putting the marker back in its place before closing the distance between them. “Trying to find out who I am, who I talk to, how I live. Anything for a reporter like Rita Skeeter to allow her to drag me down.”

Before Hermione could continue, Lily chimed in, her voice a bit rushed as if making this point was a matter of life and death for her. 

“But there’s nothing they could probably find. Mione is perfect, Andy, I _swear_.” 

Andromeda chuckled, eyeing Lily with a bit of surprise and amusement in her warm brown eyes. 

“I never said she wasn’t, did I?”

Lily opened her mouth to talk but quickly closed it as she heard Nymphadora’s steps behind her back. Tonks stopped right next to Lily, leaning onto the table and into Lily’s side, nudging her with her elbow. 

“So protective of your little crush. It’s adorable, really,” Nymphadora sighed wistfully, exchanging somewhat knowing smirks and looks with her mother—Hermione’s eyebrows shot up at that as she hoped that the part about her and Lily being late because of their supposed make-out session was actually a joke. 

“God, she’s not—” Lily tried. 

“Not here right now, Red, but Nymphadora will do just fine,” the younger woman chuckled, which only made Lily fume even more. 

Hermione couldn’t help but let out a little laugh, her own merging with Andromeda’s as they shared a meaningful look. It felt like they were watching an old married couple bicker, or maybe two children on the playground fight because of a toy; it was hilarious, amusing and adorable all at once. 

Those two finished their little banter about five minutes after that, but Hermione didn’t even bother to listen to the rest of it because it was the same every time she had witnessed it so far. 

The laughter that all of them let out after Nymphadora’s scathing but loving remark died out, and suddenly Lily asked, totally out of nowhere, “What do you think Narcissa is up to right now?” 

“Probably getting her ass kicked by the president,” Nymphadora smirked, clearly enjoying the idea of her aunt not having Riddle’s favor anymore. She slid off the table then, not saying anything else, and started rambling excitedly about one of the articles she had read criticizing Dumbledore’s policies. Lily listened to her very attentively, nodding, and they wandered off to another end of the conference room, lost in their little world.

Hermione took a few steps closer to the desk, taking a piece of paper with a draft of Andromeda’s speech for the gala in her right hand as her mind kept replaying Lily’s and Nymphadora’s words. And for all of her happiness about outmaneuvering Narcissa, she could never agree with those two on something of _this_ magnitude. 

“Or kicking the president’s ass,” she muttered more to herself than to anyone else, her eyes looking over typed out words and all the remarks and corrections in Lily’s messy handwriting by bright red pen. 

She was so immersed in reading she barely managed to catch a soft chuckle coming from her right side and the words that followed after in Andromeda’s quiet, unreadable voice. 

“She probably is.”


	5. sisters before misters?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If all of you are wondering why the chapters are so small, let me just humor you with a story of me writing an 18k-word chapter that had to be divided into two chapters (the second and the third one). After that, I have an "a chapter shouldn't have more than 13k words" rule. 
> 
> Comments for this work are much appreciated because they might be one of my favorite things in the entire universe. 
> 
> I hope all of you are gonna like this.
> 
> **as always, for helena <3 nothing surprising here, but this time i'm bringing out the big guns.  
> this fic wouldn't exist in the form it is now if it wasn't for you. thank you thank you thank you. **  
> 

**MARCH 4**

_17 Days Until Bathilda Bagshot’s Gala_

The sound of a folder being rapidly dropped on the table seemed louder than bombs in the defeating silence that reigned over the Oval Office. Narcissa’s expression remained as blank as ever, her hands laid on her right knee and clasped together as she looked up at President Riddle. He was hovering over her, trying to be imposing. It looked more funny than anything else, to be honest.

Narcissa was seated at one of the two couches, a dark wooden coffee table separating her from the standing man and her older sister. Bellatrix was sitting right in front of her, on an opposing couch, looking away, her eyes cast at Riddle’s desk instead of any of them. 

Narcissa had been listening to something _quite_ close to screaming for the past twenty-five minutes, and so far, her sister had done absolutely nothing to stop it. She didn’t even interfere. That was so different from Bellatrix Narcissa used to know; she still remembered how Bella beat up a boy who dared to push her off aswing in the kindergarten, leaving her knees and hands scraped. She remembered Bellatrix threatening Lucius when he took her out for high school prom, and years before that, glaring at the guy whom Narcissa had her first kiss with for at least twenty minutes.

This Bellatrix was everything _her_ Bella wasn’t, and Narcissa felt a pang in her chest as Alecto’s words rang in her ears, overpowering Riddle’s voice in no time _. A person you don’t recognize anymore._

Like all the pills Narcissa never learned to swallow, the thought was bitter, and she felt a lump appearing in her throat. She resisted the urge to swallow because of the president’s gaze set firmly on her; she knew he was studying her with his snake-like eyes, trying to find a weakness to hold on to, to exploit, to manipulate with. Of course, there wasn’t any—Narcissa wasn’t foolish enough to show something of that importance to a person like Riddle. 

So she just raised her chin a bit higher, meeting Riddle’s eyes once again. Her own were icy blue, colder than Arctic ice, and if it was anyone else in front of her, they would be shivering. Narcissa watched the man’s lips move, but she wasn’t catching even a word of what he was saying. His voice was far away, as if she was underwater, and it had been like that for the entirety of his speech. She tuned out of it as soon as she realized everything he was saying was one same thing; all about how she _didn’t live up to his expectations_ and _failed him_ , as if she was running _his_ campaign and not her sister’s. 

And at some point, Narcissa got so tired of making an effort of filtering out his words and insults that she cleared her throat and said, “Are you done?”

Riddle stopped mid-sentence, blinking at her. 

“Excuse me?”

“I _said_ ,” Narcissa drawled, standing up. Their eyes were at the same level because of her ten-centimeter black Prada heels, and she stared at him intently as she folded her arms. “Are you done?” 

Riddle opened his mouth but closed it mere seconds later, clearly taken aback by the interruption and her overall behavior. Narcissa saw Bellatrix’s lips part in surprise out of the corner of her eye, and she internally scoffed at her sister’s reaction. Her expression remained absolutely blank, serious and determined as she decided to use this prolonged pause. 

“Because I do not have any time in my _extremely_ tight schedule for listening to this nonsense that clearly exhibits your limited vocabulary, Mr. President,” Narcissa said, making Bellatrix gasp slightly in shock. “As you mentioned, I _am_ running a campaign. And I would like to bring to your attention that it’s _not_ yours, it’s my sister’s. Consequently, there is no way I could fail _you_ or not live up to _your_ expectations. If Bellatrix, the _candidate_ for President, has any concerns about my abilities as her campaign manager, she is welcome to bring them up to me.” She then turned to her sister, elegantly raising her eyebrow in a silent challenge that didn’t go unnoticed by her older sister as she gulped. “Do you, Bellatrix?”

Narcissa watched as Bellatrix swallowed, clearly speechless at Narcissa’s words or, how she would probably put it, her sheer _audacity_. Frankly, Narcissa didn’t care about that; thirty seconds of complete silence was the only thing she needed. She then settled her eyes back on Riddle, who looked, for the lack of a better word, completely _dumbfounded_ as his snake-like eyes flickered between the Black sisters. 

“I thought so too,” Narcissa commented on the lack of response from Bellatrix. “Since my candidate didn’t voice any concerns about my management skills, I would like to get back to what she hired me to do—run her campaign and get her to this office.”

She turned around, grabbing her black Marc Jacobs bag and hanging it on the crook of her arm. Narcissa headed towards the door, her heels not making a sound because of the dark green-carpeted floor at the Oval Office—quite tasteless if you ask her. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. Her sister and the President were sporting the same expression, their faces and eyes full of confusion and bafflement at her straightforwardness. 

“I do not appreciate losing one hour and a half of my workday on _this_ when I could be doing my job with my people back at the campaign headquarters,” Narcissa said, her voice cold and dangerously low. “I’m not your lapdog, Mr. President. I’m not at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day, so next time, if you have some questions for me or another nonsense you wish to say, then you can either do it over the phone or come to me. I hope I made myself clear, Mr. President,” she dipped her head in goodbye. A small smirk graced her features on its own accord as she noticed the kaleidoscope of emotions on Riddle’s usually expressionless face.

Her eyes moved to her sister after that, onyx clashing with icy blue ones. Bellatrix’s were wide open as she stared at Narcissa, and stared, and stared, seemingly unable to mutter even one word. 

“Have a nice day, Madame Vice-President,” Narcissa added, not taking her eyes off of Bellatrix. There was a double meaning in what she said, every letter filled with venom as Alecto’s words rang in her ears once again. So with another smirk, this time sent Bellatrix’s way, Narcissa opened the door and left. 

* * *

Throughout the day, the atmosphere at the Black campaign headquarters was charged, electrified, as if everyone could sense the tension that was rolling off of Narcissa in waves. Constant messages and calls she was getting from Bellatrix and successfully ignoring the record amount of time weren’t helping either. 

Bellatrix’s words differed from one another, and her older sister had used different tones of her voice in every other voice message she left. There was an angry _“what do you think you’re doing, Cissy?”_ and a terrified _“are you out of your mind; do you even know what he can do to you for speaking to him in that way?”._ There were also countless texts, ranging from _“ **never** do this again, do you hear me?”_ to “ _do you have any idea how hard it was for me to convince him to let you go without any consequences?”_. Narcissa felt her heart swell at the last one, a lump appearing in her throat at the thought of _her_ Bella resurfacing, and she carried this feeling around for about twenty minutes before getting another text, but this time in a much angrier tone, words scathing and judging. 

There was a voice message Bellatrix left just before the clock hit seven in the evening. Narcissa listened to it, her phone pressed close to her ear, clutched in her left hand in a tight grip as she left her office and started walking towards the conference room. Her steps were intentionally slow. 

“Fuck, Cissy, do you even—” Bellatrix’s voice was shaky as she breathed out heavily, clearly trying to compose herself. “You have no fucking clue what you did, don’t you?” she chuckled then, and Narcissa could imagine her sister shaking her head. “Stop ignoring me. Answer at least one fucking message, _please_ ,” she almost begged, her voice getting lower by the end. She swallowed then, letting out a ragged breath. “ _Please_. Answer me, and let’s meet and talk. You should know that it’s—you can’t do that anym—you know what? Just, just answer me, okay? It’s important. Please, I’m so—”

The message cut off right after that—Bellatrix had probably reached the time limit. Narcissa stopped dead in her tracks a few steps away from the door to the conference room, taking her phone away from her ear and looking at her home screen. She had a picture of Bellatrix, Draco and herself set as a background. The image was a little blurred—Narcissa’s hand shook as she had taken this picture because Bellatrix decided it would be a good idea to start tickling her. 

It was one of Narcissa’s favorite family photos. She took it nine years ago, a year before Bellatrix became the Vice-President of the United States, and it was showing. She seemed more relaxed and carefree, more like _herself_. That Bellatrix, Narcissa’s Bella, used to come over to Narcissa’s townhouse every Saturday, stay over for the night, and then spend an entire Sunday with Narcissa and a grumpy fourteen-year-old Draco when he felt like it. Back then, Bellatrix was the embodiment of the cool aunt stereotype. Narcissa had always enjoyed watching her and Draco bicker about some teenage tv show—it was two kids arguing, really. 

Bellatrix’s visits mainly stopped after she took on the role of the Vice-President, but during her first term, she at least used to drop by for Christmas, Narcissa’s and Draco’s birthdays, and sometimes for New Year’s. But the past three years were vastly different; her visits ceased to once a year, just for Narcissa’s birthday when she could, but it would always be a short, five-minute one. She became cold and distant, stopped touching Narcissa like she used to before; those cat-like, lazy and warm and loving touches Narcissa cherished so much ever since she was a child. 

Narcissa missed her sister more than the words could ever express. This picture was a reminder, both painful and pleasant, of the times that once were and the times that couldn’t be anymore because of the person Bellatrix became under Riddle’s influence. 

Her eyes flickered to Bella’s wide grin on the picture, her sister’s gaze directed at Narcissa instead of the camera, and Narcissa felt an ache in her chest she got fairly used to over the past few years. It was mostly dull, but now, after hearing Bellatrix say _please_ so many times, her voice so worried and somewhat loving, just like before, the pain was stronger. As if it came alive along with the version of her older sister Narcissa missed every day. 

She supposed that was the only reason why she typed out a message for Bellatrix, short and clipped, straight to the point. 

**[Narcissa, 7:0** **4 PM]**

My house. 10 PM. Do not be late. 

She licked her lips, schooling her features into something cold and unreadable. Narcissa slipped her phone into her bag before opening the door to the conference room. As soon as she came in, three pairs of eyes immediately settled on her. 

The room was an utter, complete mess; the papers and documents and various brightly colored folders were scattered all around the long, huge dark wooden desk in the center of the room. Narcissa spotted at least thirteen empty paper coffee cups standing or even lying in the midst of it all before her eyes flickered to the whiteboard. It was covered in Pansy’s neat writing, letters and words extremely small to fit every last piece of information on it, and the only readable thing was **HERMIONE GRANGER** written in big, bold letters at the very top. 

Narcissa’s eyes moved to Pansy then, her eyebrows shooting up involuntary as she noticed the state Pansy was in. While Daphne looked exactly like her best friend, Rodolphus, it seemed, looked even worse for the wear. All of their hair was mussed, probably because of running their fingers through it too much; Daphne’s eyes were bloodshot as if she hadn’t slept for days—Narcissa assumed she had been staring at her laptop screen too much. Pansy looked absolutely frantic, her fingers twitching, the tips covered in a black marker she wrote down on the whiteboard with. 

Daphne and Rodolphus were holed up in the conference room ever since she gave them the task of digging into Hermione Granger’s past, and the rest of the staff was instructed to not disturb them and not even enter the conference room. Rodolphus came in and out of the headquarters a few times, and Narcissa saw Pansy juggle with the research and her scheduling coordinator duties the entire day. The younger woman was running around in her heels, hands full of papers, folders and cup holders with what Narcissa assumed were coffees for her, Daphne and Rodolphus—in the end, she was correct. 

Narcissa knew the Black campaign had a competent research team, but those were her sister’s people, Riddle’s people, and she couldn’t trust them with what Riddle considered to be her mistake only. So she left this delicate task in the hands of the few people she trusted in the world and kept on doing her job during the day. She had to leave the headquarters a few times for meetings; one of them was with Lucius, who was unhappy with her for some reason—Narcissa supposed he already got a word from either Bellatrix or Riddle about her encounter with the both of them earlier today. 

When she came back to her office, she started working on one of the budget cuts she needed to make—the amount of money Riddle wanted to spend on pompous appearances was just _ridiculous_. Narcissa wouldn’t stand for it, so she redirected the funding to much better places, such as giving more money to the advertising team. They needed to step up their game for quite some time; everything was so old-fashioned Draco couldn’t stop rolling his eyes the last time he caught a glimpse of one of the campaign ads. 

As she typed out the new directions for all the teams and a long, detailed email to Bellatrix, which she knew her sister was going to hate, she felt an itch. It was in her fingers as they hit the keyboard, and she opened Google before she could stop herself.

Narcissa typed out _hermione granger_ in the search bar, her right hand tapping against the wooden desk before she hit enter. 

Everything she had seen right away was related to the younger woman’s appearance on The Shine the other night; countless pictures, videos, magazine and newspaper articles, tweets. It was sickening, the way all of politically active Washington seemed to become fixated with the girl that appeared out of nowhere on national television and proclaimed herself to be the new communications director for Andromeda’s campaign. What was quite interesting, though, was the fact that the statement the leading Democratic candidate made—about Granger’s words being true, about her new position on the team—seemed to be not as sensational as Hermione’s debut on _The Shine_. 

Narcissa scrolled down long enough in Google’s photo section that she stumbled upon the pictures from the official Stanford website. She narrowed her eyes, studying it.

It was in a tiny size, blurred at places, of a not-so-great quality, but Narcissa could swear she had seen it before. It took a few seconds for things to click, but when they did, Narcissa abruptly stood up and wandered to one of the bookshelves behind her desk. She started looking through the few pictures she had framed; with Draco, with Bellatrix, with the Lestranges… and the day of Draco’s graduation, the photo that was taken by a Stanford-hired photographer. 

She took the frame off the shelf, studying the picture. Her eyes found Draco first, Pansy and Daphne standing close to him, all three of them smiling in their black and red gowns. And then, Narcissa’s eyes found _her_. Hermione Granger. 

She was at the center of the picture, right next to the Dean, smiling happily. It was more of a grin, so different from the smile Narcissa saw while watching _The Shine_. She looked younger, too; more relaxed, but somewhat exhausted at the same time, and Narcissa swallowed as she stared, and stared, and stared. To think that _this_ girl outmaneuvered her? The thought was absolutely preposterous. 

Narcissa ended up putting the framed picture in one of her desk drawers. She closed the tab full of Granger’s photographs and her stupid, political but still _real_ smile, and came back to composing an email to Bellatrix that didn’t sound like _“fuck you and your precious president.”_

She didn’t check her team’s progress during the day; she just sent a message to the group chat after her meeting with Riddle that she would stop by the conference room after six in the evening when the official workday ended the office would be almost entirely empty. Narcissa had a feeling that this _thing_ with Hermione Granger, the sheer audacity the younger woman possessed to go behind her back and take what was rightfully hers, was only the beginning of something _bigger_ , something that already felt like it would be enormous. 

Narcissa knew Rodolphus contacted Dolohov, just like she told them to do; it was an order, not a piece of advice, and all of Narcissa’s orders tended to be obeyed. She rightfully thought they were doing good, even _great_. Why would she think anything else if all three of them had always been exceptional at their jobs, capable of doing the work of at least four different people when needed to? 

Narcissa didn’t expect them to look like they had just climbed Everest, swam across the Atlantic Ocean, and then had a boxing match with a dozen gorillas. 

“What on _earth_ happened here?” she asked, going further into the room, her steps slow and measured. 

All of them spoke up simultaneously, bolting from their seats.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Narcissa—”

“There’s nothing—”

“We couldn’t—”

They kept talking, their voices overlapping one another and merging together, and Narcissa found herself not understanding even one word. She raised her hand then, her eyes flickering between three of them, a clear command swimming in the ocean of icy blue. Seconds after that, she watched as everyone fell silent; Daphne seemed to even hold her breath for a little too long. 

In the end, Narcissa’s eyes stopped on the one who the entire campaigned staff called _the teacher’s pet_ behind Narcissa’s back, thinking she didn’t know. It was quite funny; the way they couldn’t get their little brains to understand one simple thing. She knew absolutely everything that was happening in this campaign and behind the doors of their headquarters. 

“Pansy. Slow, deep breaths,” she instructed, sensing that the younger woman was probably a few steps away from hyperventilating, her expression absolutely panicked and frantic. “Then tell me what the hell is going on.” 

Pansy did as she was told, running her hand through her mess of a classic bob in the process. 

“There’s _nothing_ ,” Pansy breathed out as she shook her head. “We couldn’t find any dirt. We talked to Dolohov and asked for his help, Daphne and I contacted our Stanford professors and fellow students, Rodolphus talked to people who worked with her at McGonagall’s office. There’s no criminal record, no gossip, no _anything_. She’s absolutely fucking _perfect_ , Narcissa.” 

“That can’t be,” Narcissa answered right away, her gaze hardening. 

Everyone had secrets, everyone had something to hide, absolutely _everyone_ had dirty laundry or a mess in their bedroom that needed to be put under the bed to not be seen. And Narcissa specialized in pulling everything out, finding a weakness and exploiting it, much like she did first with Peter Pettigrew—his insecurity of always being left out of the usual circle of the Tonks campaign was what lured him to Narcissa. She smiled a little brighter and laughed at his idiotic, silly jokes; she promised him things without actually promising everything. He looked at her like a lost puppy, hungry for validation and attention, and Narcissa had given it to him enough times to find out what she needed to. 

Remus Lupin’s weakness was the past he didn’t bury hard enough, the one that was controversial to his candidate’s main policy. Narcissa found a way to spin it in such a way that it would be impossible for him to stay on the campaign staff without destroying it in the process. There was Rita’s input, of course, but she barely did anything other than getting the article published and adding a few sentences of her own. However, a carefully crafted bomb—the draft of the article—was handed to her by Narcissa at a dining table in a secluded restaurant halfway across the city. Rita had her weaknesses too, secrets buried deep underground but not deep enough to remain unnoticed by Narcissa. The same applied to the people who gave her more information on the entire Lupin versus Greyback situation. 

“That’s impossible. She can’t be _perfect_ ,” Narcissa literally spat the word out. Her mother’s words rang in her ears, all the little things Narcissa had done that had to be hidden from the prying eyes of Washington’s political society. Then, the voice changed to Lucius’, a few years into their marriage. 

She shook her head, pulling herself out of the whirlwind of memories before she could find herself too deep within to get out.

“No one is perfect. Perfection is a foolish concept invented by girlish magazines that promote impossible, sick standards. Every human being has a flaw, a secret, a weakness. That’s what I’ve always taught you,” she pushed, her tone reprimanding.

“Fuck, I know it, okay?” Pansy breathed out, letting out a sardonic laugh as she tousled her hair with both of her hands. That was something she did every time she had a headache, so Narcissa allowed the language and the informality of it all, her gaze softening at the edges. “I _know_. I support this line of thought. But Granger, she’s just… spotless as a white sheet. As a clear blue sky, or some other damn metaphor. We spent the entire day trying, we talked to Dolohov so much that I’m fucking _sick_ of this asshole, as well as Daph, and I swear that Rodolphus here was ready to punch him through a phone line, but… there’s nothing, Narcissa. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing.”

The realization hit Narcissa then, her eyes sparkling with it as a memory of one of her recent conversations with Pansy came back to her. 

“She broke Draco’s nose in your third year of undergraduate school at Stanford,” Narcissa reminded her, sounding a little bit displeased. For god’s sake, Pansy was the one who reminded her of that less than 48 hours ago. “Surely, there’s that. We can exploit it, we can spin it, we can talk to Draco, find other witnesses, say she’s _violent_ and dangerous and _hypocritical_ —”

But the younger woman just shook her head, interrupting Narcissa mid-sentence as her eyes briefly flickered to Daphne. The blonde gave her best friend a curt but confident nod, and only then Pansy dared to look back at Narcissa.

“We can’t,” Pansy said softly, taking a step forward and outstretching her hand as if somehow trying to calm Narcissa down, but that only made the older woman take a few steps back, her gaze hardening once again. 

“Why _not?”_

“Because I told Draco, and he got really… weird about the entire thing.” Pansy shrugged, clearly downplaying what actually happened. “He told us not to bring it up again and leave Granger alone when it came to her punching him in our third year. And then he said that if we decide to go through with it, he won’t confirm anything for the press. Without his confirmations, that’s just idle gossip—no one is going to believe it, even if it’s coming from a credible source.”

Narcissa closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath before opening them again. Her face remained impassive, but her mind was running a mile a minute as she tried to understand Draco’s reasoning. He didn’t even _like_ the girl to begin with, so why would he protect her when she quite literally _assaulted_ him? 

And then it all came back to her, the way Draco insisted he wouldn’t press charges and asked her not to do anything about it right after it happened. He looked not just sad or even angry at having his nose broken by a girl, but somewhat even guilty; it seemed like such nonsense to Narcissa that she immediately brushed it off. But what other reason could there be for Draco to _protect_ Hermione Granger, especially when he very well knew that the disclosure of this situation could benefit his mother and help her with the campaign? 

Narcissa shook her head once again in a desperate attempt to collect herself. Suddenly, it was all too much. Her earlier encounter with Riddle kept coming back to her, along with Bellatrix’s worried and frantic messages she lost count of. There was Alecto’s voice still stuck in the back of her mind, along with the image of Hermione Granger’s stupid little smirk as she turned to look at the main camera, to look at _Narcissa_ seconds before _The Shine_ went off the air. Now, there were at least five new thoughts in her head, all swirling around Draco’s relationship with Granger and the reasoning behind his protection of her, behind refusing to come forward. 

She needed a glass of wine. Or a bottle, actually. 

“Okay, fine. Wrap it up and go home, I will think everything over, and we will discuss it tomorrow,” Narcissa said, waving her hand dismissively. Narcissa watched as Pansy’s eyes widened, and Rodolphus’ lips parted in surprise. At the same time, Daphne simply stared at her as if she had just declared the beginning of an actual war with the Tonks campaign—that seemed like something that might very well happen soon, come to think of it.

“Huh?” Daphne blinked, dumbfounded, her eyes flickering between Pansy and Rodolphus as if she was trying to silently ask them if she heard Narcissa correctly. 

Narcissa let out a loud sigh. 

“Wrap it up. Go home. I have a meeting, so I will be leaving the office earlier than usual, too,” she said, turning around on her heels and walking towards the door. As Narcissa opened it, she threw a look over her shoulders at them, forcing out a small smile. “Please, get some sleep. All of you.” 

The smile slipped off of her face as soon as she left the conference room. _Fuck the wine,_ Narcissa thought. She surely needed something stronger.

* * *

_Nine fifty-eight in the evening._

Narcissa took a big gulp of rum, putting the glass on the marble kitchen counter with a loud _clank_ right after that. Her eyes came back to her MacBook screen. She had fifty-one tabs opened in Google, social media websites, and various articles and pictures and videos, all of them related to Hermione Granger one way or another. 

Narcissa wasn’t going to do that—make her own research, the one she stopped herself from beginning earlier today in her office. But after coming back to the townhouse, she changed into her favorite home wear—an set of emerald-green silk pants and a long-sleeved blouse of the same color—and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of rum. Or a few. 

It seemed like the MacBook she left on the counter earlier this morning looked at her somewhat invitingly. Before she realized it, Narcissa was sitting down on one of her barstools and browsing through an endless number of tabs and social media with a full glass of rum in her hand.

_Nine fifty-nine in the evening._

She didn’t’ know how many hours had passed before she found herself scrolling down and down Hermione Granger’s Twitter account, the one that got verified just today—apparently, some people already tried to pretend to be her. Even before she came onto Washington’s political scene by starting her work in Congresswoman McGonagall’s office, she seemed to be… _perfect_ , as Pansy eloquently put it. There were no petty arguments or fights with other Twitter users, no incriminating tweets or retweets or likes. Most of the time, the younger woman had just taken to tweeting about the articles she had stumbled upon. The fact that more than eight of them turned out to be Narcissa’s favorite ones was absolutely _maddening_ , making her scoff and take another big sip of rum. It burned, but it burned less than Bellatrix not sparing a glance at Narcissa while Riddle practically _yelled_ at her. 

_Ten._

As soon as Narcissa saw the clock in the right top corner of the screen hit ten in the evening, the doorbell rang, echoing off the walls of the townhouse. Apparently, Bellatrix could be very punctual when she really wanted to—maybe Narcissa should talk back to the President of the United States more often. He seemed to be the only person her sister cared about anyway. 

She sighed and slipped off the barstool, walking to the hallway as slowly as she possibly could. It seemed like at least a minute had passed before Narcissa had opened the door to Bellatrix, who was still dressed in her Vice-President slash a candidate for the President clothes. Narcissa glanced over her sister’s shoulder, her eyebrows rising as she noticed only the black sedan and no security detail positioned around the townhouse like it usually was. Did Bellatrix drive here herself? That was quite unexpected, if you asked Narcissa. 

But nothing was as unexpected as the fact that as soon as their eyes finally met, Bellatrix literally lunged herself into Narcissa’s arms, making her take a step back further into the hallway. Her sister wrapped her arms around Narcissa’s neck, pressing them closer together, and Narcissa stood there, taken aback, for at least thirty full seconds before she returned the embrace. 

The last time Bellatrix hugged here was on Narcissa’s birthday, months ago. But the last time Bella hugged her like _this?_ Narcissa couldn’t even remember.

Before Narcissa could say or do anything, her sister pulled away, her cold hands coming to rest on Narcissa’s face as Bellatrix seemed to look over the blonde at least three times, as if searching for injuries—honestly, what the _hell_ was happening? There was worry swimming in those onyx eyes, the ones that studied Narcissa’s expression carefully and attentively, even gently, like _before_. 

“Bella?” Narcissa gasped. She barely used the nickname these days. 

“God, I can’t _believe_ you—” Bellatrix huffed, her voice barely a whisper. It sounded more worried and actually scared than anything; there wasn’t anger or disappointment Narcissa had already prepared herself for, and it was so baffling there weren’t enough words to describe it. 

Bellatrix detangled herself from Narcissa, sharply closing the door behind herself.

“Where is your security detail?” Narcissa asked for the lack of anything better to say, still confused about the entire situation and her sister’s overall behavior. 

“Where is my—” Bellatrix started repeating, cutting herself off with a disbelieving laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me, Cissy? Where is my—honestly—” 

Narcissa blinked. She should’ve had another glass of rum before opening the door. 

“You’re okay, right? Nothing unusual happened today?” Bellatrix asked, her voice tentative and unusually soft as she closed the distance between them.

“Of course everything’s fine,” Narcissa told her, her voice sharp. 

Bellatrix seemed deflated by her reaction, and she saw it then, the way her older sister started to shut off, to come back to _Riddle’s_ Bellatrix instead of the Bella she actually was, _her_ Bella, her sister.

“No, wait,” Narcissa breathed out, grasping her sister by the wrist.

Everything would’ve been fine after that—Narcissa knew that. She would touch Bellatrix like she used to, her touch softer than cashmere, very loving and gentle, and it would be enough to bring some part of Bella back at least for some time. Narcissa would enjoy those minutes, cherish them, bask in the light that would appear in her sister’s eye, and in a small smile that would probably grace her lips, even if for a few seconds. 

But none of it happened because as soon as Narcissa wrapped her fingers around her sister’s wrist, Bellatrix hissed loudly and winced. The blonde’s eyes fell to their hands then as she took her own away, and she noticed angry purple marks on her sister’s skin that looked like fingers’ imprints. They were bigger than Narcissa’s, longer and thicker, and she felt sick as soon as the thought occurred to her.

“God, Bella, did _he_ do this to you?” she asked, her voice a little bit high-pitched. She took Bellatrix by the hand, bringing it closer and watching bright purple marks. 

Bellatrix tried to take her hand away almost immediately, shaking her head. 

“What nonsense is coming out of your mouth, Cissy? Of course not,” she hissed, but there was something unreadable yet clearly noticeable behind her words that made Narcissa feel even more uneasy than before. 

“Then who did?” Narcissa inquired stubbornly, not believing her sister’s words even for a second. “Do you even realize how—he had absolutely no _right_ to—”

“Shut up!” Bellatrix shrieked, plunging her hand out of Narcissa’s grasp and taking a few rushed steps back. Her hands flew to her head as she ran her fingers through her hair, her head falling back as if in a silent payer—which was another kind of absurd; Bellatrix was as far from religious as a person could possibly be. 

She took a few minutes to collect herself, breathing in and out very deeply, and Narcissa just stood there and watched. It was dark in the hallway, and the dim lighting was coming only from the kitchen. Narcissa suddenly felt very small compared to her sister, who was still wearing her everyday attire and heels. She missed the times when Bellatrix’s presence made her feel this fantastic, unique kind of special she could never describe with words. 

It seemed like an eternity had passed before Bellatrix finally spoke up, deadly serious. Her voice was crackling from emotions as if it was the wood in the roaring fire, making Narcissa’s breath hitch. 

“You can’t pull this shit, do you understand me? _Never_ again, Cissy. You fucking can’t do this, talk to _him_ like that,” Bellatrix breathed out, coming closer to her little sister and lowering her voice. Her next words were barely above a whisper. “Do you even realize what consequences your attitude today could have for you and your entire team and Draco? Most importantly, for _you?”_

“I didn’t even know you _cared_ about something so insignificant, to begin with,” Narcissa said, folding her arms. Her voice was bitter and words poisonous as she watched Bellatrix blink, clearly taken aback. 

It was the most childish thing she had said in years, probably even in decades, and she hated the fact that Bellatrix was bringing her insecurities out bit by bit by merely being here. Because it was so long ago, the last time she felt that Bellatrix cared about her or even gave a bloody _damn_ about anything other than their partnership for work.

“ _God_ , have you gone absolutely mental, Cissy?” Bellatrix asked disbelievingly. “Of course I fucking care, I _always_ have, and you know it!”

Narcissa scoffed, raising her chin a bit higher, trying to give herself some sense of power that was currently non-existent. 

“Do you, now? Because it doesn’t seem like it, especially these past couple of years,” she chuckled bitterly. “Maybe it would if you showed it at least somehow, besides these occasional five-minute visits on my birthday every other year.”

“I was just busy with work, and you _know_ it—” Bellatrix kept insisting, but Narcissa saw it, saw her wavering confidence and the lies she had been telling herself sound unconvincing even to her own years. Her older sister’s guard was down from the second she appeared on her doorstep, and all Narcissa needed to do now was to find a loose thread and pull until embroidery of lies fell apart at the seams. 

“Too busy to spend Christmas with me, but not busy enough to spend it with _him?”_ Narcissa asked, her voice becoming more controlled as she schooled her features into something more distant, even with her mocking smirk still in place. 

“We were _working_ ,” Bellatrix shot back, glaring at Narcissa. “If you forgot for a second, we’re the President and Vice-President of the United States.”

“I would never be able to forget that in the past eight tears, you remind me about that every meeting we have,” Narcissa chuckled, looking down at her nails in an attempt to seem bored. 

That infuriated her older sister even more. 

“That’s—that’s not even the fucking point!” she hissed. “The point is, don’t you dare act so recklessly _ever_ again, don’t you _dare_ talk to him in that tone. Just stop for a second and fucking _think_ about the consequences it could have on your career and your entire life. It’s not damn high school, Cissy! You can’t just talk back to a man with so much power and expect it will be overlooked. Because it _won’t_ _be_ , the consequences—”

“You keep talking about consequences. Yet, if there were any, I think I would’ve felt them by now, so I believe it’s better if you just—”

“You didn’t because _I_ dealt with it!” Bellatrix roared, raising her voice, and Narcissa flinched out of shock, her eyes going wider at the truth coming out, at the implications. “Because I _protected_ you, because I spent hours talking to him and trying to convince him to not fire you on the spot and send you to fucking Cincinnati, Ohio, or accuse you of some kind of twisted treason! Because I ditched my secret service so he wouldn’t know I was there and came here to talk to you, on _your_ terms, to fucking get you to understand this one simple little thing!” 

As soon as Bellatrix stopped to let out a ragged breath, the room fell silent. There was the anger Narcissa expected, but it was a different kind. That was her older sister the way she used to be before Riddle, that was _her_ Bella, who she knew cared about her more than about anyone else. 

She swallowed hard, entering her sister’s personal space as she took her right hand once again, looking over angry purple marks on delicate porcelain skin. 

“Did he do this when you talked to him about me?” Narcissa asked softly, all fight and bitterness long gone from her voice. Bellatrix in that state—with guard down, worried and caring and _loving_ for the first time in forever—was something she got so unused to seeing. Honestly, if Narcissa had known putting Riddle in his place was what she needed to do to get a glimpse of her Bella back, she would’ve done it _years_ ago. 

“I already told you he didn’t do anything, just fucking leave it alone and _listen_ to me,” Bellatrix whispered. “Please, Cissy, just promise me you will, and we will forget this conversation even happened.”

Narcissa drew in a sharp breath, reading between the lines and knowing what exactly that meant. The admission of care, everything Bellatrix had said—they wouldn’t speak of it again. That was something they had done years before, and every time Bellatrix ended a discussion with _“we will forget about it_ ”, they never mentioned it again. 

But everything that transpired in the past twenty minutes felt so important. The way Bellatrix threw herself into Narcissa’s arms right away as if she needed to do it to make sure Narcissa was truly alright; the way her voice cracked with raw emotion; the way she admitted that she _cared_. 

Narcissa couldn’t help but read between the lines, though, her mind coming back to Bella’s words about accusations of treason. When Bellatrix spoke of consequences, every single word that escaped her lips was laced with _fear_. Was there something Narcissa didn’t know about Riddle’s administration, the way he operated; was there something she had overlooked, simply couldn’t _see?_

Her mask slipped off of her face, prompted by her sister’s openness and sincerity towards her, and that was such a terribly wrong thing to let it happen. Because when Narcissa’s eyes found Bellatrix’s once again, there was no worry or _love_ anymore, just a determined and deadly-serious expression Bellatrix had been wearing ever since the day of Inauguration. Before Narcissa realized it, her sister took a big step back, straightening her shoulders and clasping her hands behind her back. 

“It’s not wise of you to cross the President of the United States, _Narcissa_. If you wish to keep your job and your political reputation, you better not do it next time we have a meeting,” Bellatrix said, her voice emotionless, words clipped as if she was forcing them out. 

Narcissa pursed her lips in obvious displeasure. Why couldn’t they simply understand? Riddle couldn’t threaten her all he wanted, but the truth was, no one in the world knew her sister better than she did. Sure, Severus did a great job with Riddle’s campaign both eight and four years ago, but his ideas were more outdated than flared jeans, and Bellatrix clearly despised him. If Riddle wanted Bellatrix to win the election, he needed the best campaign manager he could ever have, and frankly, _Narcissa_ was that person. They _needed_ her. 

That was why when Bellatrix turned around and walked out of the townhouse, Narcissa spoke up, loud enough for her to hear even through a closed door, her voice cold as stone. 

_“Watch me.”_


	6. personal and political

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **for the biggest cutie to ever cute, aka helena <3**

**MARCH 8**

_13 Days Until Bathilda Bagshot’s Gala_

“You promised!” came Ron’s accusatory voice from the other end of the line, making Hermione let out a long sigh as she barely managed to stifle a groan of displeasure. Honestly, sometimes her boyfriend’s behavior was utterly childish and bordering on unbearable. 

“I didn’t promise anything, Ronald. I said I would try,” Hermione replied, her words sharp, with the faintest hints of exhaustion behind them.

She had been at the headquarters for almost thirteen hours by now. The hand of the clock in the open office was creeping closer and closer to nine in the evening. It felt like before betraying his friends, Peter Pettigrew decided to make a special effort and leave all the documents and information in shambles, making it completely useless for Hermione. 

“No, it’s just like yesterday, you said—”

“I remember what I said,” Hermione cut him off, her voice getting colder as her patience for Ron’s attitude seemed to run thinner and thinner with each passing second. “I said that I didn’t know if I could make it, that I probably couldn’t, but that I would do my best to try and come home in time. Unfortunately, there is too much work to do after Pettigrew quit, so it’s not possible for me to leave right now just because you want me to join you for dinner. It’s work, Ronald, and it’s important. I’m a part of the presidential campaign, don’t you realize how much it means for this election, for my career?” she asked. Her voice got softer by the end as she tried to make him understand her point of view, hoping that he would stop and think about the importance her new job had for her and the responsibilities it entailed. 

However, her words seemed to only anger Ron even more. 

“I’m not dumb, you know,” he grumbled, clearly feigning offense. “I may not be a part of your little political world, but I do understand some things. I just wish you didn’t forget about me, Mione. It’s the fifth dinner you’re missing this week, and you’ve never done that before, even when you just started working for McGonagall’s office.”

Hermione sighed, processing his words. She couldn’t deny there was some truth to them; she had been missing these dinners and getting back home rather late. Hermione wasn’t there on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and today, on Sunday. When she did come home for dinner on Thursday and Saturday, she was more than an hour late, met with Ronald’s annoyance and cold Chinese takeout. 

“Tomorrow. I’ll try really hard, okay?” she said, voice hopeful as she looked over her shoulder at the opened door of the conference room. Hermione could hear Lily’s and Andromeda’s quiet murmuring and their laughter from time to time, and she just wanted to get back to them instead of having this argument with Ronald for the seventh time this week. If she didn’t offer a compromise, she was sure it could go on for hours. She had neither the time nor the patience. 

“Fine,” Ron muttered, but it felt like he actually spat the words out. 

Hermione opened her mouth to say goodbye to him, but before she had the chance to, the line went dead. Her eyebrows shot up as she stared at the black screen of her iPhone, blinking stupidly and trying not to fume at Ronald’s unnecessary pettiness. Why couldn’t he understand how important her job was? 

She sighed, shook her head as if trying to shake this conversation off of herself, and came back to the conference room. Andromeda’s and Lily’s heads shot up as soon as she entered, their expressions entirely different. While Andromeda’s was quizzical, Lily’s seemed to be as understanding and supportive as it always was, as if she knew for sure what Hermione’s conversation with Ronald was about. 

“Everything okay?” Lily asked, her lips quirking up in a small smile. 

Hermione simply hummed and nodded in response, sitting back down on her chair next to Andromeda and opposite of Lily. She kicked off her heels into a pile under the table where the older women’s shoes had already resided for some time and let out a long sigh, allowing herself to show how exhausted she really was. 

“Where did we leave off?” she asked, her eyes flickering between the two. “Was it Senator Yaxley or Riddle’s speech earlier today?” Hermione was pretty sure they already covered one of those topics or maybe discussed talking about it. Her mind was hazy after a phone call with Ronald, as if something inside of her memory was completely blurred. She despised being so unfocused. 

Thankfully, Lily was always there to help her out. 

“You wanted to talk about Yaxley before your phone rang,” she prompted with a smile. 

Hermione nodded, turning her chair to take a better look at Andromeda as everything seemed to click and come back to her. God, she was so grateful for Lily’s mere existence in those moments.

“As I was saying, Senator Yaxley seems to be hosting a dinner at his residence tonight. It’s a very inclusive one, press-free. I’m fairly sure it won’t be published or even discussed in the gossip columns in the media,” Hermione said, knowing very well how secretive Riddle and his puppets could be when the situation demanded it. “Amanda, the girl I studied with my last year of grad school, has a boyfriend who is a part of Yaxley’s scheduling team. He let it slip that this would be happening, and earlier today, when I met her while getting coffees for all of us, she offhandedly mentioned it to me.” 

It was the strangest thing, all the ways unexpected she could find information with and even more unexpected people she could get it from. Amanda was one of them; they weren’t really close in graduate school but would always spend hours after lectures in the library, just studying in each other’s presence. They hadn’t talked to each other for almost a year, and Hermione was surprised to run into her this afternoon.

She entered the coffee shop, her eyes glued to her phone, and tried to find a place in line, but instead collided with a young woman. After a string of apologies, she finally looked up, noticing a familiar face. Amanda was gushing about how great Hermione did on _The Shine_ for the next five or seven minutes and how strange it felt to know someone famous before they were famous. Everything became more interesting when a company of students from the nearby college left the coffee shop, leaving it half-empty. Amanda closed the distance between them and started telling Hermione about her boyfriend, who, to be completely honest, the brunette had absolutely no interest in. She did ask what he was doing for a living only out of politeness. 

It was profoundly hard to keep her real emotions from showing up on her face when Amanda told her that he was one of the three people on Senator Yaxley’s scheduling team, on his way for a promotion. Hermione just said what everyone on Tumblr called an italicized _oh_ as Amanda kept talking about their relationship. At some point, the blonde leaned closer, her eyes firmly set on Hermione’s, “You know, he said to me that it’s a very secure type of thing. No press, no anything. And it’s all because the VP is gonna be there, maybe even with… you know.”

Amanda shrugged when, and Hermione felt her lips quirk up in a small smile as she nodded. There was something in Amanda’s green eyes that took Hermione a few seconds to place, but when she finally did, her smile grew even wider. Because Amanda was one of the smartest people Hermione had met in graduate school; she always thought ten steps ahead and was a trustworthy person. She wouldn’t spill the secret of this magnitude, knowing perfectly well how important the information she had was, if that wasn’t her intention. 

Hermione had no idea what Amanda’s reasoning was—maybe she hated her boyfriend’s job or her boyfriend in general. Perhaps she despised President Riddle so much that she decided to hand this information to the other side of this national political game on a silver platter. Hermione couldn’t know about her reasons, and frankly, she didn’t care. The most important thing was that now, she had this information. And in Washington, however insignificant it seemed to be, every piece of information was the definition of power. 

“So she just gave it to you, knowing perfectly well who you work for?” Lily asked, seeming humored. She was smiling widely, no doubt thinking about the power of knowledge, just like Hermione was.

“I suspect that’s why she gave it to me,” Hermione chuckled, shaking her head in the process. She winced then; her head started to hurt because of all the pins keeping her bun together hours ago. “Yaxley is hosting this dinner, and Vice-President Black will be there—that’s guaranteed. I asked around, and Congresswoman Carrow, Congressman Malfoy, Congressman Rookwood, and a few other important figures from the Republican party are supposed to make an appearance. It’s unclear if the President himself will grace this little gathering with his presence, but what we should be focused on is the fact that Bellatrix will be there.”

“And why is that?” Andromeda asked, her triumphant smirk back in place in a span of a couple of seconds. It looked like she knew exactly what Hermione meant but just needed to hear it. 

“Because Yaxley’s dinner parties are rumored to be a place not only for wining and dining but for gossip too. People come there to drag all the dirt out and throw it in each other's faces in the most subtle and elegant way possible. It’s clandestine of Republican secrets,” Hermione said, watching Andromeda nod approvingly. Feeling the flutter in her chest, she kept on, her smirk growing. “One of Harry’s friends works for a catering company Senator Yaxley hired for the evening. We will have the ears; maybe she will manage to hear something noteworthy.”

“That said,” Andromeda began, “I would like to remind both of you that we do not use personal lives as a means of attack. That’s what sets us apart from my sisters—when we attack, we attack exclusively in a political scene. I want you to keep that in mind, Hermione.”

“Of course,” she replied, dipping her head, as if sensing that the older woman was about to say some more. 

“It’s very easy to get off the track, especially when going against people like Bellatrix,” she paused then, tapping on her desk as she looked away for a few seconds. “And sometimes, people like Narcissa. They’ve always been inseparable during their childhood and teenage years, and I suppose that’s why they share so many personality traits. In particular, they both can be ruthless. Bellatrix will never stop until she gets something. She can walk over everyone just to reach her goal, she can _destroy_ people. We must not be like her. This is a clean campaign. Election, presidential campaigns, this entire race—it’s not about something personal, it’s about politics, first and foremost.” 

Hermione knew her eyes were probably shining as she nodded eagerly at Andromeda’s words, her smile serious but sincere. 

In Hermione’s opinion, every person who was immersed in the political world like she was just had to have a political crush. It was vastly different from the usual meaning of the term crush teenagers used these days—it wasn’t just an attraction to appearance or specific character traits; all of it was combined with the policies and political views. And Hermione was not ashamed to admit that Andromeda Tonks had been her political crush for years at that point, and what the older woman was saying now? Hearing something she believed in and was so passionate about from the person she had genuinely admired for ages?

Hermione focused on Andromeda’s last words then, and she couldn’t help but think of what a great politician the older woman really was. It was astonishing, the fact that she said this election was about politics first and foremost. Meanwhile, she was literally fighting against two of her sisters she had been estranged from ever since she was eighteen; the sisters who apparently didn’t deem her worthy enough to reconnect. 

However, before Hermione could respond with actual words, she heard a familiar voice from behind her. 

“Ah, so mom gave you the speech about personal and political,” Nymphadora smirked as she walked around the table. Her hands were full of takeout bags before she put them down not-so-gently, emitting a quiet hiss and a chastising remark from Lily, who was just inches away from the food. “Welcome to the family. You can change your last name to Tonks now and be my tiny little sister.”

Hermione kindly rolled her eyes, feeling her mood go up a bit just because of Nymphadora’s sense of humor that seemed to always be on point. 

“I’m not that much younger, you know. And I’m technically your boss,” Hermione reminded her with a chuckle. 

Nymphadora just waved her hand dismissively, and Hermione heard Andromeda snicker at that.

“Details. Now, what did you talk about while I was getting dinner for all of us, basically doing God's work?”

Lily rolled her eyes at Nymphadora, nudging the younger woman's thigh with her shoulder. Come to think of it, Hermione had never seen Lily roll her eyes or smirk as often as she did it with Tonks, which was certainly saying something. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all very grateful for our dinner and for your existence in general. So, Andy, thank you for giving birth to this insufferable human who I absolutely can’t stand and love only when she brings me food,” Lily said nonchalantly, casting a quick glance at Andromeda. The other woman simply dipped her head in acknowledgment, her smile growing wider. 

Nymphadora’s lips parted in surprise as she said, her chin raised high, “Excuse you, you should love me all the time because I’m freaking amazing. Duh.” 

“Well, that’s debatable…” Lily trailed off suggestively, actually winking at Nymphadora while Hermione tried really hard to not laugh at the twentieth banter these two had today. 

Hermione exchanged meaningful looks with Andromeda, watching the older woman slightly roll her eyes as the corners of her lips quirked up in a small, almost unnoticeable smile at Lily’s and Dora’s usual banter. 

“We discussed Yaxley’s dinner party,” Hermione explained, looking over at Nymphadora, who was currently getting all the food out of the bags and opening up countless containers. “One of my acquaintances works for a company that will be catering this event, so she might hear something noteworthy for us,” she said a bit absent-mindedly as her eyes settled on a container with deliciously-looking dumplings. There was a rich smell of vegetables, chicken, and some spices coming from it. “Oh my, I want that,” Hermione muttered, reaching for the container with her right hand. 

Before she could do that, she felt a pack of chopsticks poke at her. Lily was shaking her head with something akin to teasing disapproval in her eyes when Hermione looked up. 

“Nops. That is my favorite dish in this restaurant, and it’s mine,” she said, promptly moving a container closer to herself as she started unpacking her chopsticks. 

“But it smells marvelous, and I haven’t had food in _forever—_ ”

“No use trying, little one,” Nymphadora smirked, flopping down on a chair next to Lily and reaching for her pasta that, by the looks of it, had at least six different toppings in there. “Lily doesn’t share her food. I tried stealing some cake from her once, and she almost bit my head off.”

In turn, Lily missed Nymphadora’s words entirely, shooting a suspicious glance at Hermione from across the table. 

“I thought you went out to get some food with Dora a few hours ago?” she questioned, narrowing her eyes. 

Hermione smiled sheepishly, tilting her head slightly to the left. Technically, she did. She really did. 

However, before she could give some sort of explanation herself, Nymphadora chimed in, her smirk firmly in place.

“Uhum, we did. She ate like half of a lemon blueberry muffin from that bakery down that street before she switched to typing something on her tablet and drinking gallons of coffee.”

Lily gasped disapprovingly, by now probably shooting literal _daggers_ at Hermione in her mind while Hermione simply tried to put on her most adorable smile. It was ridiculous—that Lily worked in politics and PR for so long and still had some resemblance of healthy eating habits and a regular sleep schedule. Hermione lost it all halfway through her first two months of working for McGonagall’s office. Going from that to being communications director in literally _one_ day didn’t improve her habits in the slightest. 

“ _Gallons_ of coffee?” Lily inquired, her voice a bit lower. 

“It was just one cup,” Hermione argued, because technically, it really was. 

“Which you asked to refill two times,” Nymphadora added in a sing-song voice, clearly enjoying it too much. 

Hermione heard Andromeda snicker not-so-quietly next to her, making her groan in an obvious defeat when Lily thrust a container with dumplings in Hermione’s hands. Then, she stood up, gathering some more containers in her hands and walked, and walked around the table, putting everything down before she took a seat next to Hermione. 

“Honestly, that’s like you working on your Bachelor thesis,” Lily grumbled, opening up a few more containers that revealed pasta, salads, and some onion rings and cheese sticks with sweet and sour sauce. She moved them even closer to Hermione, passing her a pack of chopsticks. 

“It’s not,” Hermione argued as she slowly opened them up. “I haven’t fainted yet.”

“You haven’t fainted _yet—_ ” Lily repeated, gaping. “Honestly, Mione. Eat the goddamn dumplings, please.”

“Okay, okay,” Hermione let out a little laugh before she put a whole dumpling in her mouth. It tasted as delicious as it looked, just the right amount of spicy vegetables and chicken. “That's _really_ good,” she said excitedly, pushing the container so it would stand on the table in-between them. “You should have some.” 

“Of course I will have some,” Lily huffed, but still couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she saw Hermione snatch a few onion rings and dip them into the sauce. 

In turn, Nymphadora exchanged a few meaningful glances with Andromeda before declaring very loudly, “I’m not even gonna say anything this time. I won’t.” 

Hermione just threw a quizzical look at Nymphadora, who simply and very promptly stuffed her mouth with pasta. She shrugged then, turning back to Lily and putting another onion ring in her mouth. 

Their dinner went amazing. It was much more comfortable and relaxing than those two dinners Hermione had with Ron this week, so she reveled in quiet laughter, meaningful conversations, and delicious food. Andy went to sit down next to Nymphadora shortly after Lily joined Hermione, and for the next thirty minutes or so, all of them discussed everything but politics. The atmosphere quickly switched from professional to friendly as Andy and Nymphadora, interrupting each other, rambled about a documentary on wildlife they saw last week and found absolutely fascinating. Lily brought some much-needed sarcasm and humor to the table as she mimicked the latest episode of _The Shine_ , mocking Gilderoy Lockhart’s absurdity and inflamed ego. 

Hermione was mostly listening, asking some questions, and eating her food after realizing that she didn’t have much to tell everyone about. She couldn’t remember the last time she did anything not even remotely work-related. As Nymphadora started talking about this new girl she met at the coffee shop last week, Hermione realized that she couldn’t even offer some funny and exciting stories about her personal life, because, at that moment, it mostly consisted of fighting with Ron and talking to Harry, who was not-so-subtly siding with her boyfriend. She didn’t really want to involve Lily in any of this, so she just stayed silent most of the time. 

When their official dinner time ended and they cleared out the table, leaving only their drinks and a few chocolate chip cookies, Andromeda gave them a soft nod that signaled that they could start talking about work-related matters again. Hermione loved this little tradition they had for working late. It felt like a minor relief from responsibilities, however short it was. 

She cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention to herself.

“My ex-coworker texted me earlier today,” Hermione began, watching out of the corner of her eye as Lily’s head immediately snapped up. “He warned me that someone who looked suspiciously like Rodolphus Lestrange was lurking around Minerva’s office and asking around about what kind of a colleague I was.”

“Ah, good old digging from my dearest dirty Republican auntie,” Nymphadora chuckled, twisting a pen between two of her fingers.

“Nymphadora,” Andromeda said, her voice reprimanding as she tilted her head slightly to the left. “Do not speak about your aunt that way.” 

Tonks eloquently rolled her eyes, huffing. 

“Fine, fine. Whatever.”

Andy turned to Hermione then, casting a quick glance at Lily in the process. 

“But there is nothing to find out, as I’ve heard. According to Lily, you’re pretty much politically perfect, which we always appreciate in that field of work. And coupled with your skills and personality traits…” the older woman trailed off, giving Hermione an entirely mysterious smile. 

“Yes, about that…” Hermione licked her lips a little bit nervously. “It’s time to tell you that I broke Draco Malfoy’s nose in the first year of undergrad, _but—_ ”

“You did _what?_ ” all three of them blurted out at the same time, their expressions ranging from utter shock and bafflement to surprise mixed with the slightest admiration. 

Hermione turned to Lily, who just stared at her with her mouth hanging open. 

“I thought you knew?” she asked, smiling sheepishly. Hermione was sure Harry must have told his mother about this at some point. 

“I most certainly did not,” Lily just shook her head as an unexplainable smile took over a shocked expression. 

“Granger, you are fucking amazing,” Nymphadora chuckled, drawing Hermione’s attention to herself. “Did you break your hand? How furious my aunt was, exactly? Wait, do _not_ tell me you’ve actually met her even before you came to Washington?” she showered her with questions, leaning onto the table more and more with each one. “God, this is bound to get interesting.”

Hermione just smiled awkwardly, focusing on Andromeda instead. The older woman simply waited; she didn’t seem mad or even mildly angry—there was just this sort of mysterious curiosity that was always evident in her features. Her head was tilted slightly to the left as she tapped her fingers on the desk quite thoughtfully and waited for Hermione to speak up. She didn’t need to ask anything at all. There was an undeniable sense of authority that was so strong it felt like Hermione could reach out and touch it with the tips of her fingers. At the same time, Andromeda exhibited this kind of soft power mixed with trustworthiness and honesty. It made Hermione want to tell the older woman about all of her achievements and failures, both to impress and to learn. 

“It won't be brought into the light, believe me,” Hermione assured her right away, her voice confident. “I’m not going to speak about this incident in explicit detail, but I know for a fact Draco wouldn’t want reasons for our little… _disagreement_ to be known publicly. Parkinson and Greengrass know about the fight itself and that it was me, so it won’t take long for Ms. Black to find out. However, if they ever want to publish the story to sway the public’s opinion on me, they would need Draco to make it credible. He won’t cooperate.”

Hermione thought she heard Lily breath out and mutter a quiet and impressed _woah_ next to her, but she couldn’t be sure as she focused entirely on the older woman in front of her. 

Andromeda contemplated everything she heard for about half a minute before her lips quirked up in a small, thoughtful smile as she said, “If you say it is not a problem, then I believe it won’t become one. I trust your judgment, Hermione.” 

“I really appreciate it,” Hermione answered, slightly dipping her head as she tried to keep her smile from growing.

Before anyone could say anything else, Hermione’s attention quickly got drawn to Nymphadora, who, in turn, seemed to observe Lily the whole time. 

“For God’s sake, Red,” she breathed out, a little exasperated, “wipe that lovesick smile off your face and go get some lenses to get rid of that puppy eyes of yours.” 

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up at the same time as a shocked, even offended gasp escaped Lily’s lips. 

“Dora, I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about—”

Nymphadora simply smirked, casting a quick glance at Hermione that she couldn’t quite decipher.

“Of course you don’t.”

Lily opened her mouth to say something in response, but before she got the chance to, Andromeda joined the conversation, to Hermione's utter delight. 

“I think that’s enough,” she addressed both of them softly. There wasn’t any reprimand in her voice, just a gentle reminder of where they were and what they were doing that seemed to positively affect both Nymphadora and Lily as they nodded. “I think that’s all for today. I would just like to discuss something with Dora. Hermione, if you need someone to give you a ride, you can wait for us. Although I don’t know how much time it will take…”

“It’s okay,” Lily chimed in. “Don’t rush it, Andy. I have a few things to go over at my office, and it’ll take 20 minutes tops. I will give Mione a ride.”

Nymphadora snickered very noticeably, barely holding back her laughter. When Hermione sent her a quizzical look, she stubbornly shook her head and turned away to stare at Andy’s shoulder instead. 

All of them quickly said their goodbyes, even though they would be coming back to the office less than eight hours later. Hermione and Lily exited the conference room, closing the door behind them, and headed to Lily’s office at a languid pace as Hermione tried to fight the urge to take off her heels. As soon as they were at the office, she flopped on the couch, letting out a loud sigh and closing her eyes. She sent a silent thank you to the older woman for not turning on the main light and using the desk lamp instead. 

“Tired?” Lily asked softly. 

Hermione heard a rustling of the papers—Lily searching for something on her mess of a desk, she assumed—and then the unmistakable sound of liquid being poured into the glass. Lily’s heels made a clacking, but not overly annoying noise as she closed the distance between them and sat down on a couch next to Hermione, nudging her side. 

The brunette tore her eyes open, turning her head to the left to look at the older woman. She was handing her a glass of water, a small concerned smile on her lips. 

“Exhausted,” Hermione corrected her, taking the glass with a thank-you nod and drinking the entire thing in one go. She couldn’t remember the last time she drank water today; there was a possibility it actually happened yesterday. 

Lily hummed agreeably, and Hermione knew she felt just the same. A comfortable silence settled in the air between them, and Hermione simply kept lying on the couch and watching as Lily looked through a few papers that probably were the drafts of different speeches. Her lips moved but made no sound as she read over some parts, highlighting them with a yellow marker or scribbling some notes on post-it stickers and gluing them to the paper. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re failing even when technically, you’re succeeding?” Hermione asked out of nowhere sometime later. She didn’t even mean to, but Lily’s presence and the comfortable silence they found themselves in were so calming Hermione couldn’t help the question slipping off her lips. 

Lily looked up, her lips parting in the slightest surprise as she focused only on Hermione and seemed to forget about the papers in her hands entirely. The older woman tilted her head slightly to the right, studying her carefully, and then blatantly asked, “How did your conversation with Ron go?”

Hermione chuckled. 

“Can you wait until I remember the name of some natural disaster? Because it sure felt like one.” 

“Okay,” Lily sighed, putting the papers away on a coffee table and turning to face Hermione, who was still half-lying on the couch. “You can tell me, Mione. It’s okay.” 

Initially, Hermione wasn’t going to. Because Lily was Harry’s mother, and Harry made it clear that he thought Ronald was in the right and that she could make more time for her boyfriend. 

But there was just this _something_ about Lily. The older woman was looking at her, encouraging and supportive and understanding, with a touch of something Hermione couldn't quite decipher. She knew that look very well. 

The first time she saw it was in her third year of undergrad when Ron and Harry talked her into visiting Lily and James in Washington. Hermione had a deadline for an enormously long final paper on political communication that week, so as soon as she got to the Potter’s townhouse, she asked Lily if there was a quiet place where she could work without any distractions from the boys. The older woman was kind enough to offer her her home office, so that’s where Hermione spent the entire week, day and night. She almost didn’t talk to Ron and Harry but talked to Lily a lot during her short breaks from writing.

They talked about pretty much everything, ranging from the topic of Hermione’s paper—Lily offered her some much-needed advice—and Lily’s years in undergrad to their favorite tv shows and books. While Ron and Harry were playing video games with James downstairs after lunch, Lily would go upstairs and bring Hermione some quick but still fulfilling lunch. They talked during these ten or fifteen minutes Hermione ate. Lily wasn’t pushy or imposing like Harry and Ronald were—with her, Hermione didn’t need to ask to leave her alone whenever she needed to focus. Lily always read the atmosphere incredibly well and did that herself. 

The night before they were supposed to go back to Stanford, Hermione finally finished working on her paper and submitted it. As soon as she did it, Lily entered her home office—that temporarily became Hermione’s home office—with a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses. They talked for hours. 

That was the first time Hermione saw Lily not as Harry’s mom, but simply as _Lily_. 

Even years later, Lily still looked at her like that, encouraging and understanding. As if her support was unconditional, not like Harry’s and Ron’s—Hermione knew very well that theirs came with so many conditions she lost count a few years ago. 

“My missed dinners count is currently at five,” Hermione muttered, the faintest hints of exhaustion she couldn’t quite hide evident in her voice. “So Ronald isn’t thrilled with me.” 

“Oh, honey,” Lily breathed out and moved closer to her on the couch, her fingers twitching slightly. “He doesn’t understand, does he? The importance of it all.”

Hermione nodded solemnly. 

“The worst part is… he isn’t even trying,” she chuckled sadly, straightening in her seat. She hissed quietly, feeling stiffness in the back of her neck before her eyes settled on Lily’s once again. “He is _exhausting_ me, you know? I mean, I get tired here, at work, obviously, because I’m not a robot. But it’s a pleasant kind of tired. If you know what I mean?” Hermione looked at Lily, too hopeful even for her liking. 

The older woman smiled at her and nodded. 

“Yes, I know, honey. You get tired, but you’re happy you’re tired because that means you worked hard on something as important as this campaign,” Lily said, accompanied by Hermione’s rapid nodding as a cheerful smile finally seemed to grace her features at being understood. 

Hermione nodded eagerly, agreeing with every single world—it felt like Lily was taking them straight out of her mind. 

“Exactly! See? You understand,” she blurted out, her lips quirking up in a small smile. “I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for them.”

It took her approximately five seconds to realize what she didn’t mean to say, but very well implied with one word. If Lily’s narrowed eyes and a piercing look were any indications, it took her half as long. 

_“Them?”_ the older woman drawled. 

Hermione blinked, licking her lips. 

“I meant _him_ ,” she corrected, her voice calm and measured. “I was talking about Ronald. I guess I’m just too tired for this, and the lack of sleep and too much caffeine are getting to me,” she said, hoping that it would be enough to redirect the conversation to Hermione’s inability to take proper care of herself, as Lily loved to repeat. 

Unfortunately, Lily saw right through her. 

“Did Harry side with Ron? Does he seriously think you’re not trying your best? Does he not understand how important your work is—” Lily asked, her voice getting lower with each question as she looked more and more displeased, “—and how hard it is to run a campaign without a manager and that in this case, the constant presence of the communications director is simply _crucial_ to the functioning of the entire _fuck—_ ”

“Lily,” Hermione leaned forward, covering the older woman’s hands with her own and effectively shutting her off before she worked herself up even further. “It’s okay, really, they’re just—”

“I raised a goddamn _idiot_ ,” Lily huffed, not letting her finish or get a word in, “who, apparently, does not respect women enough to understand that you’re not supposed to _try better_ for a boyfriend who can’t even understand and support you when you’re literally half-running a motherf—”

“O-o-okay,” Hermione chuckled disbelievingly, not being able to keep the smile off her face as she gave Lily’s hands a squeeze that once again worked as a shutting-up mechanism. “Let’s calm down a little, shall we?” 

Lily nodded, slowly breathing out, and it seemed like most of her anger magically dissipated in the span of a few seconds. 

“Okay. I’m calm.”

Hermione raised her left eyebrow, looking entirely unconvinced. 

“Just don’t mention it to Harry, please. I’m sure I will work something out myself, okay?”

“Okay, I promise I won’t do anything,” Lily grumbled, almost physically forcing the words out. “Just know that you can always bitch about these two idiots to me.”

Hermione let out a little laugh. 

“Oh, I have a hunch I will be taking you up on that offer.”

Lily fell silent then. She didn’t seem too deep in thought, but by the way her expression got, it was clear to Hermione that she was thinking about something important, considering whether she should say it out loud or not. 

“And just know that I’m so immensely impressed by you and proud of you for all the hard work you’re doing here. Because every step can bring us closer to winning the election, and you know this. However insignificant or small the step might seem, you always pay utmost attention to it,” Lily commented a bit breathlessly, her smile growing bigger as she clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m really happy to work with you on this campaign.”

“I’m really happy to work with you too, and with Andy and Nymphadora and literally everyone else on the team,” Hermione said, her voice sounding a little bit lighter now. It felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulders at being appreciated and understood by someone whose opinion she truly valued. “And I have _you_ to thank for that.” 

Lily rolled her eyes, the gesture full of affection and familiarity, and said, “Don’t be silly. I just rambled about how amazing you are and orchestrated your appearance in the headquarters. The most important part, impressing Andy, getting the job… that was all _you_.”

The faintest blush appeared on Hermione’s lips as she dipped her head, trying to keep her smile from growing—quite unsuccessfully. She looked up then, meeting Lily’s blue eyes.

“Thank you. It means so much, hearing all that from you.”

And when Lily dropped her off at her apartment complex thirty minutes later, Hermione was sure that Lily was right—if Harry and Ron couldn’t understand and support her like friends and significant others were supposed to, like Lily _did_ , then it was entirely their problem. A few years ago, there were things she sacrificed to keep a carefully weighted balance in their trio and be there for both Harry and Ronald. As she opened the door to the dark, unlit apartment, she knew that this job wouldn’t be one of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> My tumblr is [evadwrites](https://evadwrites.tumblr.com).  
> My twitter is [evadwrites](https://twitter.com/evadwrites).
> 
> (yes. i know. i’m _that_ original with my usernames.)


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